I Think He Knows
by Snoweylily
Summary: Morse's gaze softened as he reached up to brush back her hair. Her very reddish-browny-blonde hair, Jakes belatedly realised, the same shade as Morse's. In fact, looking at them both now, he could see more similarities. The rounded ear tips, the gentle shape of the mouth, the smattering of freckles across the nose and cheeks. She was, without any doubt, his. Morse had a daughter.
1. One

**One**

Jakes sighed as he dragged himself to his feet and trudged towards the desk sergeant on duty that morning. Three murders in the span of two weeks. The mayor was breathing down Bright's neck, Bright was snapping at Thursday, and Thursday, in turn, was being unbearably demanding of him and Morse.

Morse, of course, who had decided that the three victims were, in fact, somehow connected, but the lack of evidence was making their jobs twice as hard.

If he hadn't seen first hand the incredible jumps the man's mind made, he would've been annoyed. But as it were, Jakes knew the younger man enough by now to realise that he wasn't being arrogant or snobbish, he actually _was_ that smart.

"Hey Strange" He greeted, glad for the familiar face at the front desk, "Thursday call yet?"

"Still with the family of the Bannon lad" He replied, "Shouldn't be more than an hour".

"Right. Thanks".

"Morse found any leads yet?"

"Two, apparently" He rolled his eyes, "But you know what he's like, he'd-"

The sudden bang of the front door against the wall made them jump, and Jakes spun around only to see a panicked-looking young girl run in.

He frowned, "Hey kid, you alright?"

Bright blue eyes latched onto him and he was startled to see tears in them. Quickly walking over, he hesitated for a brief moment before crouching down in front of her, aloof reputation be damned. "Are you okay? Where are your parents?"

"I- I'm looking for my- my daddy" She stuttered, "Are you a police officer?"

He nodded, "I am. I'm a Detective Sergeant here… My name's Peter, what's yours?"

"Abigail" She replied, "But my daddy calls me Abby".

"That's a lovely name" He smiled, "But your dad must be getting pretty worried about you. Where did you last see him?"

She shook her head vehemently, looking at him like he'd said something particularly stupid, "No! No, I didn't _lose_ him, I'm _here_ for him! There was a- a- an accident and Mrs Laskey was hurt and my daddy always said to go to the police if I needed help but _he's_ police and I need _him_ so-"

"Your dad works in this station?" He interrupted, surprised, and she nodded again.

* * *

A quick glance back at Strange offered no help, as the man shrugged and shook his head.

* * *

He stood, "Well then, Ms Abigail, how about we go find him while you tell me more about this accident, okay?"

She brightened considerably, wiping her tears away and gladly taking his hand, and Jakes found himself _equally_ glad to not have to deal with a crying child.

"You said that someone got hurt?" He asked, leading her towards the office, "A Mrs… Lansky?"

"Laskey" She corrected, "She's our neighbour but I stay with her during the day while daddy's at work and today we went- went shopping and there was a- a car and- and-"

_And oh god she was going to start crying, again, wasn't she? _

Jakes sped up and quickly steered her into the bullpen.

"I'm sure she'll be alright kid. Now who did you say your dad was again?"

"I didn't!" She said exasperated, "You're a detective, you should know that! And what if Mrs Laskey isn't okay? What if she- she-"

"_Abby?_"

* * *

Jakes' gaze snapped up to survey the room. Now who had just…

* * *

"Abby!"

He spun just in time to see a streak of tawny hair dash past him and kneel on the floor in front of the small child. "What happened? What's wrong? Why are you here?"

Jakes blinked.

And blinked again.

As did everyone else in the station.

Because there was no way-

"Are you hurt?" Morse continued, hands frantically running up and down the girl's coat and bright yellow dress, searching for injury, "Where's Mrs Laskey?"

The girl stared at him in silence for a moment, then burst into tears.

Morse immediately pulled her close, "Hey, _hey_, you're alright, calm down, you're safe now, I'm here Abby, you're okay".

_My daddy calls me Abby._

Jakes blinked once more.

_Holy shit._

* * *

Scooping the child up into his arms, Morse stood and made his way back to his desk, not noticing, or perhaps just not caring, of the dozen eyes that followed. Carefully taking a seat, he manoeuvred the girl with ease until she was sitting sideways in his lap, still holding her close.

Jakes slowly leaned back against his own desk, gaze remaining latched on the unlikely pair.

"What happened?" Morse repeated, gently pulling her back enough to see her face, "Where's Mrs Laskey?"

"There was a- a- an accident" She said, voice wobbling, "We were shopping and c-crossing the road but then- then she turned back c-cause she'd dropped a- a bag and- and a c-car c-came round a c-corner and- and- _and_-"

She sobbed and buried her head in his chest again, and his arms wrapped around her, "Hey, shh, it's okay. Where's Mrs Laskey now?"

"H-Hospital" She sniffed, "I waited to make sure the a-ambulance c-came but- but there was so many people and s-shouting and y-yelling and I _panicked_ so I- I ran here and I know I'm not supposed to go off on my own b-but I was so _scared_ daddy and- and-"

She sobbed, and the rest of the room stilled.

She had called him-

He really was-

Morse was-

"_Holy shit_".

Morse was currently glaring at him.

Oh right, kid, fuck.

"Holy sh- _sugar_" Jakes finished, lamely, "I… I said sugar. I meant to say sugar. Not sh- I mean, uh, not- not _that_. Sugar. Holy sugar".

Abigail giggled, turning to give him a watery smile, and Morse's gaze softened as he reached up to brush back her hair.

Her very reddish-browny-blonde hair, Jakes belatedly realised, the exact same weird shade as Morse's. In fact, looking at them both now, in front of him, he could see more similarities. The rounded ear tips, the gentle shape of the mouth, the smattering of freckles across the nose and cheeks. Abigail was, without any uncertainty or doubt, Morse's own daughter.

_Morse had a daughter._

She was Morse's child.

Jakes said as much, and the younger man nodded, "Yea. She is".

There was something defensive in his tone.

"I, uh… I didn't realise you were married" He said, consciously aware of the other officers listening in.

"I'm not" Morse replied, a hint of steel in his voice, eyes flashing dangerously as if daring him to challenge him.

"Oh… _Oh_. Okay, then" He finished awkwardly.

"Problem?"

"No, not at all" He replied honestly, "My… My mum raised me herself. She wasn't married either".

Eyeing him for a moment longer, he gave a sharp nod, and Jakes felt like he'd passed some invisible test.

* * *

Waiting until Morse turned back to the girl, he levelled a hard gaze at the other men in the room, all of whom quickly turned back to their work. Returning to his own desk was a bit more challenging, as Jakes felt his eyes drifting back to the pair every few seconds, as if drawn there by a magnetic force, watching father and daughter speak quietly to one another as the kid began to calm down. He was on his 34th subtle glance when the office door opened once more and Thursday stepped through.

* * *

Quickly standing up, he made his way over to the governor just as the old man spied the pair in the corner.

He blinked. Frowned. Appeared to be doing some sort of mental arithmetic. Failed. Then turned to Jakes for the answer.

"Morse's kid" He said quietly, "Name's Abigail. She rushed in after the babysitter was brought to hospital because of a hit and run, but she seems to be alright. Mother's not in the picture, apparently".

Thursday turned back, studying them closely for a minute.

"... How did we not know this?"

Jakes shrugged, "I've been asking myself the same thing for the last twenty minutes".

"Some detectives we are" He huffed, before continuing the walk to his office, "Morse, with me".

He looked up, startled, before getting to his feet and depositing his daughter where he'd been sitting. He glanced towards the open office door, then back at Abigail, clearly conflicted.

"I'll mind her".

It took a second for Jakes to realise that it was him who had spoken.

Morse turned to him, clearly surprised, but after a moment, even more surprisingly, he nodded.

He gave his daughter a stern look, "_Behave_".

She smiled sweetly, "Of course, daddy".

Jakes snorted.

Clearly, she'd inherited her father's trouble-making proclivities as well.

* * *

Morse stepped into the private office and shut the door behind him, "Sir".

"Have a seat" Thursday replied, lighting his pipe.

He did as told and braced himself for the worst. It wasn't exactly professional to bring a child to a police station, after all, and even less so to have his daughter sitting at his desk. He hoped it wasn't enough of an issue for a dismissal, but suspension wasn't out of the question.

"Where are we with the Allen case?"

Morse started.

"... Sir?"

"The Allen case" He replied, puffing on his pipe, "The string of supposedly unconnected murders. Any leads?"

"Any… Any leads…" Morse trailed off, confused, before quickly shaking himself out of it, "Yes sir. Uh, _two_, actually. Mr Allen's neighbour recalled seeing a man lurking around the premises about a week before he was killed, and when she asked who he was, he said he was from the electricity board. I've contacted them, but they said they never sent someone out to Allen's property".

"Good. Then we've got a suspect. The other lead?"

"I re-interviewed the family of the first victim, Sarah Vickery. They said nothing new, but when I was leaving the sister walked me to the door and whispered that Vickery had recently started seeing someone. She didn't mention it before because the parents didn't know. An older man, apparently, not someone her family would have approved of".

"And you think that this mysterious trespasser and the boyfriend are one in the same?"

"I think it's a high possibility sir" He said honestly, "Both strangers would have known the home of the deceased, and they would have had a way in without causing suspicion, a reason to hang around and wait for the opportune moment to strike".

"The perfect cover... good work, Morse" Thursday said, nodding, "Now all we need is a motive and the name of our mystery man. Contact the family of the other victim, see if there was anyone new in Bannon's life as well".

"Yes sir" He replied, standing.

"Oh, and Morse?"

"Sir?"

Thursday held his gaze as he purposely reached up and removed his hat, placing it on the desk next to him.

He swallowed thickly and sat back down.

"You have a daughter".

"… I do".

"Abigail, was it?"

He nodded.

"Nice name, Abigail".

"It was my grandmothers" He replied, "And my mother's middle name as well".

"You named her then?"

Morse heard the unspoken question.

"Abby's own mother wanted nothing to do with her" He said, tone even and somewhat flat, "I named her. I raised her. She's mine".

Thursday stared at him, taking in his hunched shoulders and clenched fist, a man ready to take on the world to protect his child.

He sighed, "Jakes said there was an accident… Is the girl okay?"

"Scared, panicked, upset… But she didn't get hurt. She'll be alright once the shock wears off".

"And the babysitter?"

"Mrs Laskey?" Morse frowned, "I contacted the hospital, but they wouldn't give out much information since I'm not a relative. A broken leg, apparently, and a few cuts and bruises, but she's expected to make a full recovery".

"Good" He replied, replacing his hat on top of his head, "Take the rest of the day off".

"Sir?"

He saw the panic in the younger man's eyes and sighed, "You're not being suspended, Morse. I still expect you in here bright and early tomorrow morning, but right now, your daughter needs you. Take her home, have a quiet night in, make sure she's okay".

Morse felt a burning in his eyes and angrily pushed it down.

"Thank you, sir".

"If it were my Joan, lad, I'd want Bright to do the same for me".


	2. Two

**Two**

Jakes didn't know what to do.

Once Morse had disappeared into Thursday's office, he'd turned to face Abigail and the girl had smiled shyly up at him, far calmer than when she'd first come in.

He stared back awkwardly, not knowing what to do. It wasn't as if he had any first hand experience with kids, after all, and his own childhood wasn't something he liked to remember, so… what, exactly, did one do with children?

He couldn't show her crime scene photos, he was smart enough to know that much. Blood and bodies weren't something any child should see, even if that child was Morse's and would therefore probably get a kick out of it. Then again, since she was Morse's kid…

"You wanna do a crossword?"

She brightened considerably, "Really? Daddy usually has his filled in before I wake up".

_Of course he did._

"Sure" Jakes replied, motioning for her to drag the chair next to his desk as he fetched the newspaper, "I haven't filled in mine yet, so you can have it".

She climbed back up on the chair, little legs kicking in a way that made him feel strangely warm inside, before gladly taking the pen and paper from his hands and settling down to work.

Jakes watched her for another few moments, noticing how her brow furrowed the same way Morse's did when he was concentrating, and how her eyes narrowed just as his did when faced with a particularly difficult puzzle. Her eyes weren't the right colour though. As similar as she was to her father, some aspects of her mother had shined through. The shape of her nose, for one, but it was the eyes that struck Jakes the most. They were also blue, true, but not the same shade as Morse's. While his were fair, like the sky on a warm day, with a ring of hazel in the middle, Abigail's were pure cobalt, reminding him of electricity and the Caribbean. They weren't Morse's eyes, even as they did narrow and squint as she stared in confusion at the crossword in her hands.

* * *

It suddenly occurred to him that she might not know how to write.

* * *

She'd said the neighbour minded her during the day, after all, so she couldn't have started school yet. Had she learned to read or write yet? Knowing Morse, she was probably born with the ability, a theory further confirmed as he watched her write in a word with small careful handwriting. At what age did children even learn those things? In fact, how old was Abigail anyway? She couldn't be more than six, because she wasn't in school, but she didn't look too far off it either. She could just be tall for her age, he mused, Morse was tall, and he'd bet money that he'd been one of those awkward gangly kids too, so it was possible that she took after him. Her mother though…

Jakes didn't want to pry, but he was a detective for a reason and not knowing all the facts was making him uneasy and who the hell didn't tell their colleagues that they had a kid anyway?! Morse had said she'd raised her, so he'd obviously had her since she was a toddler, meaning he'd known he was a father for at least three years, but in all that time… nothing? No mention of birthdays or christmases or sick days or aunts and uncles coming to visit?

* * *

If he were being honest with himself, Jakes was more upset than angry.

* * *

He knew he'd been a right bastard to Morse when he'd first arrived in Oxford, but all of that had changed after the younger man took a bullet on the job. He'd proven himself, proven that he wasn't all fancy words and haughty college degrees, proven that he could get the job done, no matter the cost. Jakes reluctantly respected him for that, and toned down the teasing and not-so-subtle barbs. He'd like to think that after all they'd been through, that Morse would consider him a friend.

And while he was being honest with himself, he'd like to think that maybe, possibly, there was a chance for something… more?

But here he was, sitting at his desk in the middle of the day, next to his supposed friend's kid.

A kid he hadn't known even existed before an hour ago.

He wondered if Morse would have ever even told him if she hadn't burst in here herself.

Shaking his head, Jakes turned his gaze from the mystery child back down to his paperwork. They needed to find a connection between the killings, something that would link them all together before the higher ups decided it was just another of Morse's outlandish theories.

* * *

Funny how they constantly seemed to forget that those same wild accusations always turned out to be true.

* * *

So far, they only had the reports of the neighbour and Vickery's sister, but if they could get a statement from Allen's family, or even a second-hand eye witness account, they could start to narrow it down…

He looked up as Thursday's office door reopened and Morse stepped out. He was looking rather worse for wear, but had a small smile on his face, so whatever Thursday had said, it hadn't been bad.

Good, Jakes nodded decisively, because if the guv had yelled at him for holding his terrified daughter, boss or not, Jakes would've yelled back.

"What do you have there?" Morse asked, his smile widening as he came towards them.

"Mr Peter gave me his crossword puzzle" Abigail replied excitedly, receiving a raised eyebrow at the use of his first name.

Jakes flushed and took a long drink from his mug in the hopes that Morse couldn't see it.

"You get any of them yet?"

"Mhm" She nodded, holding it out for him to see, "14 across is 'hyperbole' right?"

He almost spat out his tea.

What sort of child knew the word 'hyperbole'? He wasn't even sure himself of its meaning.

"Let's see" Morse replied unfazed, crouching down in front of her to take the paper, and no, Jakes most certainly did not give him an appreciative glance as his trousers tightened rather enticingly.

"'An exaggerated statement not to be taken literally'" He recited, before looking back up, "I think you might be right".

She grinned and oh, that was entirely her fathers, the unique turn of the mouth and twist of the lips, and Jakes found that, once more, he couldn't look away.

He'd always thought of Morse as solitary, after all, unique, one of a kind, alone. He'd never expected to meet another person like him for the rest of his life. And yet… here she was.

"Come on, Abby, time to go".

She nodded obediently and handed the newspaper back to Jakes.

"Keep it" He said, "You're better at crosswords than I am, anyway".

She smiled again, and he found himself smiling back.

"You done for the day?" He asked Morse, who nodded, "Thursday told me to take her home. I'll be back tomorrow".

"Alright. See you then".

"See you then" He agreed, putting a hand on his daughter's back to guide her through the office.

"Bye Mr Peter!" Abigail waved, "And thanks for the crossword!"

"Catch you later kid" He replied, a forbidden smile on his lips once more. He watched them go, glancing up at Morse just before they rounded the corner. They locked eyes, just for a moment, but Jakes could see the clogs turning in his brain, his brow furrowing just as his daughter's had done not ten minutes ago, contemplating… something.

Jakes gave him a nod, and turned back to his paperwork.

Knowing Morse, he'd figure it out before nightfall, and he'd get the rundown of whatever it was tomorrow.

* * *

"Jakes?"

"Sir?" He looked up as Thursday stepped out of his office.

He glanced over at Morse's empty desk, "Already gone? Good. The lad could do with a bit of rest, not to mind the girl after the days she's had… DeBryn called, said he just finished Bannon's autopsy and found something interesting".

"I'll go" Jakes nodded, grabbing his coat but pausing at the door, "… Sir?"

Thursday turned back to him.

"Do you think… I mean, would he have… Do you think Morse would have ever told us?"

"… I'd like to think so" He replied at length, eyes clearly troubled, "God knows the lad could do with more friends, or someone to watch his back and help out with Abigail at least, but… honestly… I'm not sure".

Jakes nodded again and watched as the old man returned to his office.

He wasn't sure either.

* * *

"Ah, Sergeant, you're just in time" DeBryn announced, closing the file in front of him as he stood up, "You're here for one Mr Jake Bannon, yes?"

"Thursday sent me to collect the file" He agreed, "Low blood sugar, right?"

"Wrong" He replied with a smirk, "Mr Bannon revealed quite a lot to me this past hour, and something tells me you'll be interested in what he had to say".

Following the pathologist over to the table in the middle of the room, he watched as the white sheet was pulled back and the bloated corpse was revealed.

Jakes grimaced.

The body hadn't been found for a few days after the young man had died, and was in the early stages of decomposition, his flesh bulging and his skin mottled with bruises.

"Coroner on site declared it was hypoglycaemia that finally 'offed' him, as it were" DeBryn started, completely unaffected by the gruesome sight, "But Morse said something was wrong about the scene and so, the Inspector told me to treat it as murder and see what I could find".

"You're about to tell me he was right, aren't you?"

He smiled, "I ran a toxicology report to be sure, but really, it should have been obvious from the blue nails and pinpoint pupils".

"Obvious that-?"

"He was poisoned" DeBryn finished, handing over the report, "Mr Bannon here, died of a morphine overdose. Given the amount that still remained in his blood stream when we found him, it would have been quite the lethal dose. He would've slipped in the abyss without a single pain".

Jakes frowned, glancing back up at him, "You think he did this himself? Suicide?"

"I leave the speculation to you lot Sergeant, and with good reason too… But I couldn't help but notice that his flat was on the bad side of town, sparsely furnished, and his file says he worked part time in a pharmacy".

"Means and opportunity" He finished, and the pathologist nodded, "My thoughts exactly. I'll leave the motive up to you".

He slowly shut the file, "I'll look into it. Won't be much consolation for his family if it does turn out to be a DIY job but… they deserve to know the truth at least, no matter what his reasons were".

"'Whosoever will save his life shall lose it, and whosoever will lose his life shall find it'"

Jakes frowned and hazarded a guess, "Wordsworth?"

"Housman" He correct, eyes twinkling, "Morse would've known that".

"Yea, well, Morse knows a lot of things I don't".

"Careful Sergeant, that almost sounded like a compliment" He teased, "You know, I almost didn't recognise you when you came in without your shadow. Where is the infamous detective this fine day?"

"Thursday sent him home".

DeBryn frowned, "Not injured, I hope?"

"No, no, nothing like that…" Jakes trailed off, suddenly struck with a strange thought, "Doctor…. did you know that Morse has a kid?"

"Yes, Abigail, why?"

He stared, "You _knew?!_"

"I was unaware it was confidential information" the pathologist replied dryly.

"It's not!" He replied quickly, "I mean, it's not that… I just… how long have you known?"

"Oh, since about a few weeks after he started here, I suppose".

"_How?_"

DeBryn levelled him with a withering look, "He got himself _stabbed_, Jakes, that's how. And you lot brought him to me to stitch up".

"And, what, he just… _told_ you? There and then?"

"Well, I told _him_ not to overexert himself in fear he'd pull his stitches. That included any strenuous activity, and he asked if lifting things counted" DeBryn replied with a fond smile, "I asked how large a thing he planned on lifting, and he said 'Oh something about yay height', holding his hand out about four feet off the ground… I got it out of him eventually".

"And you never… you never told me? Or Thursday? _Anyone?_"

"Well it's not exactly something that comes up in our everyday conversation, is it?" He challenged, tugging the sheet back up over the body, "'Nice weather we're having, I'd say this bloke was offed by an axe. Oh, and by the way, will I be seeing you at Abigail's fifth birthday party this weekend? Autopsy's at three!' _Really_ Sergeant?"

Jakes could hardly believe what he was hearing, "... You were at her birthday party?"

"Yes, and I got her a stuffed giraffe called Herbert. I've heard she's quite fond of it. Now if you've got nothing more productive to do, you can show yourself to the door. Unlike _some_ people, I actually have work to be doing".


	3. Three

**Three**

Morse glanced up briefly as Jakes came in the next morning, receiving a nod and an awkward half-smile in response. He turned back to his work, but felt the sergeant's gaze linger on him longer.

He sighed.

Any minute now…

But, surprisingly, Jakes simply took off his coat and sat down.

Morse frowned, having expected a barrage of questions now that Abby was out of the room, but none came. Jakes wasn't exactly known for holding back his opinion on things, and _Morse_ having a _kid?_ That was pretty big. The gossip mill must be going wild today, just as it did every time another piece of Morse was revealed. He was a private person and didn't like mixing his personal life with business, so him having a daughter, out of wedlock at that, must be driving them insane. He knew that Jakes wanted to ask about it, just as everyone else always asked about it. Single unmarried parents were rare, after all, and the majority were women. Between that, his age, and the fact he wasn't exactly 'parent material' in the eyes of society, it wasn't surprised that Jakes _had_ questions.

This had to be the highlight of his week, which… okay, no, that wasn't fair. He'd matured a lot since he returned after the shooting incident, and even tried to include Morse in things outside of work, suggesting a drink down at the pub or even dinner once or twice. With Abbey to get back to, he'd always refused, but he couldn't deny that he'd considered it. On more than one occasion. Quite _a_ _lot_, actually. There was just something… _curious_ about Peter Jakes, something that made Morse want to break him apart and build him back up to figure it out. He wasn't blind, he knew the older man was attractive, what with those sharp cheekbones and deep green eyes, but there was something _beyond_ that as well. He was smart, yes, and Morse had never been able to resist clever, and he had a good sense of humour when it wasn't as someone else's expensive, and he was also-

He was also currently _looking_ at him.

Morse cleared his throat but kept his head down, and Jakes quickly looked away.

Perhaps he wasn't as unaffected by yesterday as he had thought...

* * *

"Morning Morse" Thursday said, trudging in after the sergeant.

"Sir" He replied with a nod.

"Are you re-interviewing Bannon's family today?"

He nodded.

"Good. Take Jakes with you, another pair of eyes won't do any harm" He said, stopping at his office door, "… How's-"

"She's fine" Morse interrupted, not wanting to bring Abby into his work life and hoping that yesterday's incident could be forgotten.

Thursday paused, studying him closely for a moment, before nodding and disappearing into his office.

Morse turned back to Jakes, ignoring the burning question in his eyes, "You ready to go?"

* * *

They arrived at Bannon's parents' house without a word said between them, and were quickly ushered into the living room where an elderly couple and a young man said.

"Rigsby" He introduced himself, "Sean Rigsby. I was Jake's best friend".

"I'm sorry for your loss" He replied, somewhat awkwardly, declining the cup of tea offered.

Thankfully, Jakes took over.

"We're sorry for the intrusion, but we just have a few more questions we'd like to ask before tying up your son's case".

"Case?" Mrs Bannon asked, eyes red rimmed and watery, "I was told Jake died of natural causes. Passed away in his sleep. Why is there a case?"

"That's what we first believed" He replied slowly, "But our pathologist found an abnormally high concentration of morphine in his system. We were wondering if you knew anything about it".

"Morphine?" She asked, confused, "What would he have been doing with _that?_"

Mr Bannon put a hand on her arm, "I think what they're trying to say dear, is that Jake… Jake killed himself".

He turned to them for confirmation, and the sergeant gave a tight nod while Morse frowned at him. _Suicide?_ That wasn't right...

"What? No! _No_, our boy wouldn't have… there's no way he'd… it's just not…"

"We understand that this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Bannon, but I'm afraid we need cover all possibilities" Jakes replied diplomatically, "You had no knowledge of the morphine?"

"No!" She exclaimed, "No, he didn't mention it at all. I mean, sure, he sold some in the shop, but… he wouldn't… he just _wouldn't_-"

Morse blocked out her sobbing and instead focused on the stranger in the room.

Sean Rigsby was looking quite... _bothered_.

Ducking his head to make eye contact, Rigsby stared back at him with an anxious gaze, before finally nodding and making a subtle gesture to the open kitchen door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am" Morse said suddenly, "But may I trouble you for a glass of water?"

Jakes gave him a weird look, but Mrs Bannon stilled, "A… A glass of- _oh_, yes, of course, here, just let me-"

"I'll get it, don't worry" Rigsby cut off gently, smiling sadly at her, "Right this way sir".

Morse followed him with a pointed look at Jakes to keep the couple talking for as long as he could. He got a single nod in return and started asking more about Bannon's job, as Rigsby led him to the kitchen and quietly shut the door behind them.

* * *

Turning back to him, Rigsby let out a heavy breath, "… Suicide?"

"We have to cover all possibilities" Morse replied automatically, but the younger man frowned, "You don't believe it, though. I saw the look you gave the sergeant, you were surprised".

Sharp lad.

Morse pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gestured for Rigsby to do the same.

"It's my job to speculate" He replied, "But… you're right. It doesn't sit well with me".

"What, then? You think he was _murdered?_"

"There's always a chance" He admitted, "But you wanted me alone for a reason".

He took the hint and sat down across from him.

"… The night that Jake died, he called me" Rigsby started, "I didn't mention it before now because… well, it was natural causes, wasn't it? There was no reason to be suspicious until you mentioned the drugs".

"What did he talk about?" He asked, flipping open his notebook.

"That's just the thing, he… he _didn't_. I mean, he spoke, sure, but it was… rubbish, mostly. He sounded panicked, paranoid, I just thought he was drunk… _God_, if I'd only gone over there…"

"There's no point on dwelling on the 'what if's and 'maybe's" He said kindly, "What happened, happened. The best thing you can do for your friend right now, is to try and help me figure out the facts".

He nodded, steeling himself, "Okay. The facts. Sure. He rang me about… 11pm, I think. It was late, I had just fallen asleep, but the phone woke me. He seemed spooked, jittery, like he was nervous about something".

"Did he tell you what?"

"No" He shook his head, "Just kept ranting about this… this _man_, I think. Some bloke who'd rubbed him the wrong way. I think… I think he mentioned a name, something like- like Dancy? Or- Or maybe Chauncey? He was mumbling, stuttering, that's why I thought he was smashed. Could never hold his drink, Jake".

He gave a small, sad smile.

"… I don't think it was suicide. And I know that- that I was his best friend so _of course_ I'd say that, of course I'd hope that he'd have come to me before things got that bad but… but I really mean it, you know? He wouldn't have killed himself. Not Jake. He's an only child, see, and he _loved_ his parents, deeply. He wouldn't have… he wouldn't have done that to them. Not Jake".

Morse slowly shut his notebook and returned it to his coat pocket.

"I'll look into it" He promised, "Ask around, maybe someone at the pharmacy knows a Dancy or Chauncey. They're not common names so I'm sure someone will know something".

Rigsby nodded, looking relieved, just as there was a quiet knock on the door.

Jakes stuck his head around and looked between them before his gaze settled on Morse, "You done?"

"Yea" He replied, standing up, "We're done".

* * *

"So, this Rigsby fellow, who is he exactly?" Thursday asked, lighting his pipe.

Morse glanced at his notebook, "Sean Rigsby, 22 years old, deceased's friend. Were close since childhood, it seems. Grew up together".

"He wants us to rule out suicide?"

Jakes scoffed, "Well of course he does, no one wants to believe that their friend topping themselves was a better option that talking to them about it".

Thursday gave him a quelling look before turning back to his bagman, "… What do you think?"

"I think it's unlikely. Not _impossible_, just… improbable" He admitted, "He was an only child, sent half his wages back to the parents every week, had a good group of friends… There's nothing to suggest that he'd contemplate suicide".

"Did you not see where he lived?" Jakes muttered but went ignored by the other men.

"Murder, then?"

"I think so".

Thursday sighed, puffing out a cloud of smoke, "… We've got two confirmed murders as it is. Do we really need a third?"

"If it turns out I'm right, then yes" Morse argued, eyes flashing, "And if there's a _connection_-"

"Then it's a serial killer" Jakes finished, "Just what we need".

Thursday looked between them for a moment before finally coming to a decision.

"Alright. Let's say it was murder. Find me some hard evidence, and we'll officially look into it. Dismissed".

* * *

Grabbing his coat, Morse barely restrained a sigh as Jakes also jumped up. The man had been giving him not-so-subtle looks all day, and it seemed that he had finally ran out of patience.

"Hey, wait up!" He called, "I'm going your way anyway, so we might as well go together".

Morse knew for a fact that Jakes had no idea where 'his way' was, but decided not to mention it, wanting to get the oncoming interrogation out of the way as soon as possible.

Pausing outside to light a cigarette, they began walking down the uneven sidewalk.

"So" Jakes started, "How's Abigail?"

"Fine".

"And the neighbour? Mrs…?"

"Laskey" He finished, "She's alright. Won't be able to move around much for a few weeks, but expected to make a full recovery".

"So who's minding the kid while she's in hospital?"

"Monica, mostly. She's on night shifts this week and agreed to help out".

Jakes frowned, "Monica? Who's… _oh_, the nurse! Hicks, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"And you're… I mean… are you and she-?"

"No. We're not" Morse replied, "Not that it's any of your business".

Jakes took another drag of the cigarette and they continued on for the next few minutes in silence.

"You _have_ to know that I'm curious".

"Want some taunting material, is it?"

"What? _No._ Morse, come on, you know I'd never-"

He abruptly stopped and spun around to face him, "Never what, Jakes? _Tease_ me? _Mock_ me? Purposely go _out of your way_ to take whatever little personal detail you've managed to _dig up_ and use it _against_ me?!"

The cigarette hung limply in his mouth, and he slowly reached up to take it before it fell.

"… That's honestly what you think of me?"

Morse flushed and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he began walking again.

"I don't know what to think of you. At the beginning I thought you were a right bastard".

Something stirred in his chest at the sound of the prim and proper officer cursing.

"Tell me how you really feel, why don't you?"

"I plan to" He shot back without hesitation, "You were _always_ on my case, making my first few months here absolute _hell!_ It was bad enough that the temporary transfer meant I hardly saw Abby anymore, and then you come along with your superiority and holier-than-thou attitude and point out every little mistake I made. And then you wonder why I don't reveal the biggest part of my personal life?!"

His face was flushed with anger, and Jakes had to almost jog to keep up with him.

"I…" He paled, "I didn't _mean_ to… I mean I know I can be… _difficult_-"

"Understatement of the year".

"-but you have to look at it from my perspective too!" He finished, "There I was, working my _ass_ off trying to get the guv's attention, and you just waltz in, a constable on loan with barely two years experience under your belt and crack the case in a number of days. Thursday all but adopted you, and yea, that pissed me off, and yea, I took it out on you. Was it the right thing to do? No, it wasn't. And am I sorry for it now? … Yea. I am".

He slowed down ever so slightly.

"I'm _sorry_, Morse" Jakes said quietly, "I was angry and everything I'd worked so hard for was crumbling to the ground around me... So yea, I lashed out. I thought you were a high-and-mighty college kid with a smart mouth. Which, you know, you _are_, but… but there's _more_ to you than that, and I can see that now. So I'm sorry, alright? I don't want to fight with you anymore, I just… I want us to be friends".

It was the first time he'd ever said those words out loud.

"I want to be friends, and friends know stuff about each other's family. They talk and they tell each other things and they know if their friend has a bloody _six-year-old daughter!_"

* * *

His heavy breathing sounded too loud in the resulting silence.

* * *

"… Five" Morse finally said.

"What?"

"Five years old. Not six" He explained, "Abby just turned five".

The knot in his chest seemed to loosen.

"Five, huh? She starting school in September then?"

"She can't wait" He smiled softly, "I don't think she realises just how stupid other kids can be".

"Guess she took after you in the brains department then".

Morse's cheeks reddened and Jakes couldn't help but smile as he turned up his coat collar to try and hide it.

"Not necessarily. Her… Her mother was clever. _Incredibly_ so".

"Is she…?"

"Dead?" He gave him a knowing look, "No. Not that I know of, anyway. She was… She was _everything_ to me".

Jakes swallowed thickly, "But you weren't everything to her?"

He expected Morse to recoil, to scowl at him for the harsh words, but instead, he got a sad smile and a distant look in his eyes and that was so _so_ much worse.

"I thought I was… Obviously I was mistaken. We didn't expect Abby, she wasn't planned in the slightest… I said I'd do right by them, that I'd drop out, get a job, that we could make it _work.._. But she didn't want to".

Jakes frowned, "Hang on- _drop out?_ Drop out of- of _college?_ How _old_ were you?"

"... Nineteen".

He stared, mouth agape as his legs seemed to stop working.

"You were still a teenager. Practically a child yourself".

Morse smirked sadly, also coming to a halt, "I had to grow up pretty quick with Abby in my care".

"So, what, she just, had the baby and _gave_ it to you? Continued on with her life?"

"Pretty much".

"What a _bitch_".

He gave a startled laugh, and Jakes found himself smiling in response to the rare sound.

"Yea, she was… she was something alright" Morse smirked, before nodding at the building behind him, "This is me".

"Oh. _Oh_, right, yea, of course" Jakes stumbled, having forgotten the purpose of their long walk during the conversation, "I'll, uh… I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

He nodded and turned to face the block of apartments, and the sergeant was momentarily struck dumb by the way the sunlight shimmered through his hair.

"Morse?" He called suddenly, and the younger man glanced back at him, "I really am sorry, about how I acted when we first met, and… and thank you. For telling me".

He smiled, soft and sweet, "Thanks… I don't regret it, you know. I've been asked that before. If I'd go back to Oxford and change it all, if I could… I wouldn't. I wouldn't change a thing, not if it meant losing Abby. She's my everything now".

Jakes stood there, silent, as the younger man gave him a small wave and disappeared into the building. Turning around, a sudden movement caught his eye, and he glanced back.

A five-year-old girl stood staring back at him from a third story window, tawny coloured hair glistening in the evening sun, white teeth sparkling as she grinned and waved.

Jakes smiled, and waved back.


	4. Four

**Four**

Jakes found himself whistling a happy tune as he made his way into the station the next morning. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and he could breathe easier knowing that he and Morse weren't at odds with one another anymore.

Tossing his jacket over the back of his chair, he spied the man standing in front of the evidence board, staring at it with his head tilted to the side and an adorable frown on his face.

"New lead?" He guessed, coming up to stand next to him.

Morse shook his head, still staring at the pictures and maps, "No. Just trying to find a connection".

"Well, if anyone's going to find one…"

The tips of his ears turned red and he turned to give him a dark look.

Jakes smirked, patting his pockets for a cigarette, "I'm just saying! What is it that Thursday said? You could find something suspicious in a saint's sock drawer?"

"If he killed three people, then yea" He muttered, turning back and missing the fond smile sent his way.

Ten minutes of silence later, and Morse sighed heavily, "There has to be _something!_ A- A name, a place, a person! _Something_ that links them together enough to mollify a serial killer".

"Unless he's a psychopath" Jakes said, "In which case he wouldn't need much reason".

"Psychopaths always have a reason" He shot back, "They're just too intelligent for most coppers to see the connections that they make".

He gave him a long look, "… I'm so glad you're on our side".

"Well, if it weren't for Abby, who knows? I mean, a child is pretty difficult to take care of when you're a supervillain".

Jakes turned to him sharply, and realised too late that he was joking.

He rolled his eyes and gave the younger man a playful shove, "Oh shut up!"

"And then _un-_shut up and give me an update".

They both started and turned as Bright strode in.

"Sir" Morse nodded, Jakes quickly following suit, "Sir, we were just… uh… we were-"

The Superintendent sighed, "I don't care about what you were just doing, Sergeant, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I even _want_ to know. Inspector Thursday mentioned a new lead?"

"Yes sir. A possible link between the Sarah Vickery case and Roger Allen's. She had a new paramour, sir, and we believe him to be the same man that was seen trespassing on Allen's land five days before he was killed".

"And does our mystery man have a connection to Jake Bannon?"

"Not yet, sir" Morse admitted, "Doctor DeBryn found that he wasn't killed by natural causes, as first suspected, but by a morphine overdose".

"He worked in a pharmacy, did he not?" Bright questioned, "He had access to the drugs. Did neither of you consider it was by his own hand?"

"That was my reasoning, sir" Jakes said, "But neither his family nor friends believe he'd commit suicide, and Morse thinks-"

"Well of course they wouldn't, no one wants to believe _that_" He interrupted, "If you can't find any evidence of murder, then put a pin in it. Focus on the two we know were killed by someone else. Bannon clearly killed himself".

* * *

Jakes winced as Morse slammed shut the car door with more force than necessary, before getting out himself.

He'd been in a strop all morning after Bright had told them to dismiss Bannon's case, and that wasn't the kind of attitude needed as they went to re-interview Allen's neighbour on what she saw.

Jogging to catch up, Jakes cautiously put a hand on Morse's shoulder as he knocked on the front door, "How about you let me do the talking, alright?"

He got a sharp nod in return.

"Hello? Who is it?"

He quickly turned back to the house, "Oxford City Police, ma'am, from Cowley. We spoke on the phone?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" She replied, opening the door, "You must be Sergeant Jakes?"

"Yes ma'am, and this is-"

"Morse!" She gushed, ushering them in, "The only officer who took my electricity man story seriously!"

Jakes gave him a surprised look, but the younger man was too busy scowling to notice.

"Can I get you a cup of tea? Some biscuits? A slice of cake, perhaps?"

"No, thank you" He replied, "I'm afraid we don't have much time. It's that story we're here about, actually".

She positively beamed as she led them into the sitting room, "I _knew_ it was important! I even told young mister Morse here that it would end up being crucial, now, didn't I?"

"You did, ma'am" He replied dutifully.

"Now so, what can I help you with? Do you need me to retell it?"

"If you'd be so kind".

"Of course, of course! Anything for our boys in blue!" She picked up two knitting needles and a ball of yarn that had been deposited next to her armchair, "Oh, where to begin… I suppose it was about a week before poor Mr Allen passed away that I saw him. A shifty looking character, he was, tall and broad and up to no good, let me tell you! I was hanging out my washing, you see, and as I share a fence with Mr Allen I could see right into his backyard! That's when I noticed him, skulking about the house, jumping over the side gate, and trodding on all those _beautiful_ white roses the late Mrs Allen planted. Why, she must be rolling in her grave now, the poor dear. Died _awfully_ young, she did, before they had any children too. But Mr Allen tended to those flowers year in and year out as if they _were_ his children. I can't blame him, I suppose, they were probably the only things left he had to remind him of her, the poor thing. Oh yes, he _loved_ those roses. They'll probably all wither away now, without him to care for them-"

"Excuse me, ma'am" Jakes interrupted, "But the electricity man?"

"The electricity- _Oh!_ Yes, of course!" She rambled, beginning a new line of stitches, "_Anyway_, that's why I went over to him you know, because he was after destroying those _beautiful_ white roses, and if Mr Allen had known he was coming, he surely would have warned him. So I called out, asked him who he was, from the safety of my own backyard, mind you. He was quite startled to hear me, seemed awfully nervous, and that was another reason the incident struck me an odd, for _surely_ Mr Allen had told him to come? I didn't much fancy the thought of the lad breaking in to the old man's house-"

"I'm sorry, but 'lad'?"

"Yes, a lad! Sure, that was all he was, not much younger than Morse there. Now, _mind you,_ I had forgotten my glasses inside, but one doesn't need those to judge the age of someone _surely_. And he was tall, too, and agile from the way he jumped over that fence. I thought he'd merely forgotten the key but-"

"Can you describe him in more detail?" Jakes interrupted again, clogs turning in his brain as he fished out a notebook and pen.

"Oh _sure_, he was about… oh, I don't know… six foot, perhaps? Not too far off it, at least. And he was broad too, at the shoulders. _Would've made a fine rugby player,_ I thought, when I first saw him".

"And his hair? Eyes? Facial structure?"

"I don't know much about the last one, but he had dark hair. Black, or maybe a dark brown? And his eyes were blue, _startling_ blue! Why, I almost thought they weren't real with how blue they were. All in all, he was a handsome lad, I suppose, but as I said, I didn't have my glasses, and I was a good five feet from him at the time… Does that help?"

"Immensely" He replied, "So you asked him who he was?"

"Yes! And he stumbled a bit for an answer, but eventually said the electricity board had sent him. Mr Allen had called and said there were power outages in his area, but of course _his_ area is _my_ area since we were neighbours and all, so I told him that there was no problem and that he clearly had his information wrong. He agreed with me, and said he'd have to go and call his supervisor, and that was the last I saw of him".

Jakes finished jotting down the details before standing, "Thank you for your time, ma'am, you've been a great help".

"You don't think that that's the lad who killed Mr Allen, do you?" She asked anxiously, "Only, he knows I saw his face and I don't want him coming back here for me".

"We'll make sure that doesn't happen" He placated, "If he hasn't returned by now, it's highly unlikely, but I can put an officer at your door until we catch him, if that makes you feel any better".

"Oh, it_ does!_ Thank you, Sergeant! And you too, Morse, despite your sudden silence" She teased, and he gave her a strained smile in response, "We'll be in touch if anything comes up, ma'am".

* * *

Waiting until they were both back in the car and safely out of earshot, Jakes turned to face his partner.

"Remember the photo Mrs Bannon gave us of her son?"

"What about it?"

"Tall, broad, dark hair, and blue eyes".

Morse frowned and looked over at him, "You don't think…?"

He shrugged, "The description fits. She said the lad wasn't much younger than you, and Jake Bannon was 23 years old. He was nervous, which also makes sense, if he was planning on murdering Allen. The victim's wine was drugged before he was killed, and Bannon had plenty of access to those".

"So, what? A murder-suicide? Jakes, I don't think the kid was even capable of killing _himself_, much less another person" He shot back, "And what's the motive?"

"_Hey_, all I'm saying is that this is as close to a connection as we've gotten. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"Well, _yes_, but not- not like _this!_"

"I don't make the rules, Morse" He retorted, "And I wish Bannon didn't kill anyone as well, least of all _himself_… But if the evidence fits…"

"He had no motive! No _reason!_"

"Then let's find one!" Jakes snapped, "You've convicted on less, Morse. Don't let your personal opinions cloud your judgement on this".

Morse scowled and turned back in his seat, refusing to reply.

It just didn't make _sense!_ Bannon had no reason to kill Allen, and even if he somehow did, he wouldn't have gone through with it! Not with the way his parents and Rigsby spoke about him. He didn't kill Allen and he didn't kill himself. He _couldn't_ have.

"I'll tell Thursday and Bright when we get back" Jakes said quietly, "I know you don't like it, but… we can't ignore the facts, Morse".

He remained silent, brain working overload as he tried to come up with something, anything, that would disprove this latest theory, but by the time they arrived back at the station, he still had nothing, and trailed behind Jakes into Bright's office like a scolded puppy.

* * *

"A new lead?" the Superintendent asked, and Jakes nodded, "Yes sir. Is Inspector Thursday-?"

"Out" He replied, "You can bring him up to date once he returns. Now, the lead?"

Morse ignored the questioning look Jakes gave him, and remained silent.

"We re-intereviewed Roger Allen's neighbour" He started, turning back to Bright, "Morse previously took her statement, so we followed up. She claims to have seen a young man trespassing a few days before he was killed, and… and the description of the trespasser matches that of Jake Bannon, sir".

"The suicide?"

"_Alleged_" Morse couldn't help but correct, receiving a glare for his troubles.

"You believe he killed Mr Allen and then himself, is that it?"

"Yes sir".

"_No_ sir".

Jakes shot him a look but Morse ignored it, staring down Bright determinedly.

"… Jakes, back to your duties. Morse, stay behind".

"Sir?"

"Back to work, Sergeant!" Bright snapped, "Track down anyone who can collaborate this new advancement".

Jakes gave a helpless look to the younger man next to him before reluctantly nodding and leaving the office.

"Have a seat, Morse".

"I'd rather stand, thanks".

Bright paused, glancing up at him through wire-framed glasses, before giving a heavy sigh.

"… We didn't get off to a good start, you and I".

"With all due respect sir, that was hardly my fault".

"… Perhaps" He finally acknowledged, "But I demand efficiency above all else, and sometimes, I admit, that can get in the way of good old-fashioned police work. I've tried being lenient, I understand that you're an intelligent man, Morse, and that sometimes you can see things that others can't… But I'm afraid I have to put my foot down in this case".

"_Sir_-"

"Mr Bannon fits the description of our lead suspect, he had access to the drugs used before Mr Allen's death, and he also had access to the morphine he used on himself not a day later. You wanted a reason for his suicide, Morse? Well there you are. _Guilt_".

Morse took a deep breath to stop himself from saying something rash before replying.

"I don't think he did it, sir".

"And I don't think I'll win the lottery tonight, but you never know" He replied, "It's over, Morse. Case closed".

"If you'd just _let_ me-"

"Let you what? Waste more time and energy, not to mind police resources, on tracking down a non-existent killer? We already caught the man!"

"But Bannon didn't do it!"

"Well unless you have evidence to the contrary, all signs point towards he_ did_".

Bright held up a hand as he tried to argue further.

"That is _enough_, Morse. We still have another murder to solve, or have you forgotten?"

"Vickery's sister claimed she was dating an older man, sir, and Inspector Thursday and I both agree that he and the so-called electricity man were one in the same!"

"Well it looks like they're not" He replied simply, "She wasn't much younger than Bannon, so it couldn't have been him, and _honestly_, it's not the first time a married man stepped out on his wife with a younger woman. There's no connection between Bannon and Vickery".

"Just as there's no connection between Bannon and Allen!"

There was a knock on the door.

"Actually, Morse, there is".

* * *

Jakes held up the file in his hand, "An anonymous eye-witness just called in. They said they saw Allen arguing about a prescription with Bannon in the pharmacy he worked at a week before he was killed".

Bright sighed, "Well there you have it, Morse, _motive_. The description fits, the evidence fits, and so does the timing. Anything else you'd like argue against?"

"Why bury him?" came the immediate response, "Allen's wine was drugged, and once unconscious he was stabbed before being buried in a shallow grave in his own backyard. Why would Bannon bury him?"

"Guilt" Jakes suggested, "It looked like a spur of the moment thing, and once he realised what he'd done, he tried to bury the body before killing himself out of guilt".

He shook his head, "But it wasn't spur of the moment! The wine was drugged, but the bottle had only been opened that night, meaning that someone had broken in, injected the drugs through the cork in the bottle, and then sat back and waited. This was premeditated and planned to the last _detail!_"

"And it isn't the first-time anger made a young man act rashly" Bright finished, giving him a pointed look, "You said he called his friend the night before he died".

"Rigsby, yes. He said he sounded drunk".

"Drunk? Or _terrified?_ He had just killed a man, after all, and suddenly realised what he'd done. Of course he'd ring his best friend, the only person he thought he could trust, and of course he'd be rambling. And didn't Rigsby mention that Bannon was ranting about a man? Someone he'd argued with?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And didn't he say his name sounded like Dancy? Or Chauncy?" Bright continued, "Tell me, Morse, what was Mr Allen's middle name?"

"… Clancy".

"_Exactly_. So, you see, it all fits. Bannon argues with a man in the pharmacy, a man whose full name he has access to since it's printed on the prescription bottle. He's furious, so he tracks down where he lives, but Mr Allen isn't home. Instead, the neighbour sees him, so he panics and makes a story about being from the electricity board. That scares him off for a few days, enough time to plan what he's going to do and to get the drugs, then he returns one night, kills Mr Allen while he having his dinner, before suddenly realising what he's done. He buries him in an act of misplaced guilt, calls his friend, panicking, but gets brushed off as being drunk, and then returns home where he kills himself… Does that not sound possible to you?"

"I'm not saying it's _impossible_, sir, I'm-"

"Good! Then we're all on the same page" Bright finished, standing up, "Bannon killed Allen, and then committed suicide. Let it go, Morse. _Case closed_".


	5. Five

**Five**

"Daddy!"

Morse immediately dropped his bag and bent down to scoop up the child running towards him.

"Hey, sweetheart, how was your day?"

"Great! Mon and I did some painting!" Abby gushed, "Do you wanna see it?"

"Well of course I want to see it" He replied solemnly, before looking up and smiling as the woman in question emerged from the kitchen.

Monica kissed his cheek in greeting.

"I'm afraid most of the paint got on the table and floor, but it's nothing a bit of bleach can't cure".

"Is that your professional medical opinion, nurse?"

"Oh, most assuredly" She teased back, "She's had dinner, and there's leftovers in the fridge. Just don't be surprised if you find specks of paint in it".

"I consider myself warned" Morse replied, putting Abby down as she started to complain.

"Same time tomorrow?" Monica asked, and he nodded, "If that's alright with you".

"Of course. This little angel and I have great fun, don't we?"

Abby tugged on his hand, "Daddy, come _on!_ I want to show you my paintings!"

She laughed and headed for the door, "I'll show myself out. See you tomorrow".

* * *

Morse allowed himself to be dragged to the kitchen even as he stared after her. His whirlwind romance with the nurse had been short but meaningful, and he would never be able to repay her for minding Abby while he was temporarily 'away'. In another life, he could picture settling down with her, getting married, maybe even adding a few children to the mix. But this wasn't another life, and she had her career to think of and he had Abby.

Abby, who was currently shoving a purple paint covered page in his face and assuring him that it was a dragon.

"It's a very pretty dragon" He replied dutifully, "Almost as pretty as you".

She blushed and tried to push him away, but her mediocre strength barely made him sway on his feet. He retaliated by suddenly leaping forward and tickling her, and soon they were both on the paint-covered floor and giggling.

"Daddy! S-Stop it! _Daaaad!_" She whined until he eventually let up.

She had paint in her hair as well on her face and hands, and he resigned himself to a long night of cleaning.

Her million-watt smile, however, more than made up for it.

"Come on" Morse said, standing and reaching down to hoist her up, "I think a bath is in order".

"But I don't _like_ baths!"

"Nobody like baths Abby, but they don't like people who don't _have_ baths even more. And you don't want to scare Monica away with your purple hair, now, do you?"

"But purple's her favourite colour!" She protested, obediently following him none-the-less, "… What's Mr Peter's?"

He stopped so suddenly she almost bumped into him.

Morse turned and frowned down and her.

"What's Mr Peter's what?"

"Favourite colour" She replied, "Mon likes purple, and I like yellow, but what does Mr Peter like?"

"Why do you want to know?" He asked suspiciously, holding open the bathroom door for her before bending down to turn on the hot water tap.

"I was going to make him a card" Abby replied simply, "To say thanks for the crossword… Do you think he'd like one?"

"I'm sure he would" He placated, "But I don't know if he even has a favourite colour".

"Everyone has a favourite colour!"

"I don't".

"Yea, but you're _you!_"

At his disgruntled expression, she laughed, reaching forwards to pat his cheek.

"But that's okay daddy, because I like you just the way you are!"

"Good to know" He replied dryly, checking the temperature of the water, "You need any help?"

"Nope" Abby, struggling with her t-shirt, "I'm a big girl now, Mon even said so!"

He secretly smiled, "Well, any girl who can draw a purple dragon as well as you did _has_ to be grown up".

She eyed him suspiciously, "… Are you teasing me?"

"I wouldn't dare".

She smiled, "Good".

* * *

Shaking his head, Morse left the door open an inch in case she called for him, and left the bathroom to clean up the mess in the kitchen.

Now that Monica had left and Abby was safely scrubbing paint from her arms, he found his mind drifting back to the case. It was as clear as day to him that Bannon didn't commit suicide, nor did he kill Allen, but he couldn't think of a way to convince the others at the station that too. There was something _wrong_ with the crime scene photos whenever he looked at them, and it was beyond frustrating, knowing something so _obvious_ that no one else could see. Until he found some hard evidence, however…

He finally put down the mop and returned to the front door to collect the shoulder bag he'd dropped earlier. Inside, were three files that he may or may not have smuggled out of the station this evening.

Oh well.

What Bright didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Reheating some of Monica's famous shepherds pie, he collapsed at the faintly multicoloured table and turned Jake Bannon's file to page one before digging in.

* * *

He was half way through a second helping and near the end of Vickery's file when he heard his daughter's soft footsteps come down the hall.

"What are you looking at?" Abby asked, wiggling under his arms to sit on his lap.

"Just some work stuff" He replied, obediently pushing the chair back further from the table so she could fit, "My boss is angry with me, so I'm trying to find some proof that I'm right".

"He won't just take your word for it?"

"Not this time" Morse said, running a hand through her still damp hair, "Did you brush your teeth?"

"Uh huh" She said, staring at the papers in front of her, "Who's Isabel Vickery?"

"She's the sister of a girl who died".

"_Died?_" Her eyes widened as she glanced back at him, "_Why?!_"

He couldn't help but smile at her naivety, "We don't know yet, that's what I'm trying to find out".

"Oh… Will you be done soon?"

"In a few minutes, I just have a phone call to make first. Why do you ask?"

She squirmed excitedly, "Because we're half way through _Twelfth Night_ and I _need_ to know how it ends!"

Morse laughed and nudged her towards the kitchen door, "Then how about you get ready for bed, I finish my work, and then we'll read another scene, okay?"

"Another _act!_" She demanded.

"Two scenes".

"Four!"

"Three, final offer".

She pouted, "… _Fine._ But you have to do the voices!"

"Promise" He said, "Now go on, off to bed. I'll just be another minute".

* * *

"Hello?"

Morse straightened in his chair, "Mrs Vickery? It's Morse, Oxford Police, I spoke to you-"

"About Sarah, yes, is there an update?"

"I'm afraid not" He said quietly, "But the last time we met, you mentioned that your sister had been seeing an older man?"

"Yes. She never told me his name but… she quite liked him".

"Did she ever describe him to you? His build, hair colour, eyes, anything?"

"No-"

His heart fell.

"-but I did see them together once".

Morse hardly dared to breathe, "You _saw_ him? The man she was secretly dating?"

"Yes, briefly, one night, when he was dropping her off. But, sir, what has this got to do with-"

"Mrs Vickery, I need you to describe him for me" He interrupted, scrambling for a pen, "Every thing you remember, no matter how insignificant".

"Well… Alright, then. He was… I don't know… He was _tall_, taller than Sarah by a foot, at least. Muscular too, that's when I realised how old he was. Boys Sarah's age aren't that build, you know? He had fair hair, blonde or light brown, maybe, but I was too far away to see his eyes. I think they were dark, but… I couldn't swear on it".

He quickly scribbled everything down.

"Thank you, Mrs Vickery, really".

"But what has this got to do with my sister's case?" She asked, "Is he a suspect?"

"We're just covering all angles" He reassured, "As soon as I have an update, you'll be the first to know".

* * *

Morse smiled as he silently opened the bedroom door only to find Abby sitting up and poured over the battered play in her lap.

"Are you reading ahead?"

She all but threw the book across the room in fright.

"No!"

He raised an eyebrow at her and after a minute she sighed, "Fine, I was, but you were taking _forever!_ And I didn't understand some of the words anyway, so it made no difference".

He sighed and reached down to retrieve the play from where it had landed, "Alright, shove over, where were we?"

"Orsino was asking Viola if she's in love with a woman cause he thinks she's actually a _man_ thanks to her disguise and she's secretly describing _him_ but he doesn't realise and tells her to try and convince _Olivia_ to marry him despite the fact she's in love with _Viola_ and will never _ever_ love Orsino like Viola does but he's too much of an _idiot_ to realise that!"

Morse blinked.

Abby sighed, "Honestly, daddy, putting a pair of trousers on does not hide the fact she's a girl! She's still small and skinny no matter how short her hair is. Why can't they see that?"

"Because they have no reason to suspect 'Cesario'" He explained, "They all think Viola's someone else, because they've only ever known her as a man".

"Some people are so _stupid_".

"You shouldn't say that" He scolded, "... But yes, they are".

* * *

It wasn't until later that night, as Morse was half asleep in his own bed with thoughts of Vickery and Allen and Viola and Cesario floating around his head that he realised. Viola and Cesario had the same height and build, but became different people by changing hair styles… So who's to say Vickery's boyfriend and Allen's trespasser didn't do the same?

* * *

"Can I get a copy of that anonymous caller's report?"

Jakes look at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously, "… Why?"

"… Because it pertains to an active case?"

"It also pertains to a closed case, one that Bright _specifically_ told you to drop" He replied knowingly, and Morse sighed, frustrated, "Look, can I get a bloody copy or not?"

"Not if you're going to use it to work a dead case, no".

"Doesn't it strike you as odd? An anonymous tip _just_ when we needed it most?" He shot back, "Why not leave a name? An address? There was no harm in doing so".

"Maybe he feared what would happen if it came out that he was the caller".

"_He?_" Morse asked sharply, "It was a man?"

"Yes, it was a man. An English, monotone-voiced, middle-aged-sounding man. What difference does it make?"

Morse strode back to his desk and looked at the notes he had taken of Vickery's mysterious boyfriend. He had been middle aged, too, and English. So was the trespasser that Allen's neighbour described. That could be the reason he hadn't left a name or address; he wanted to make sure the police couldn't get back to him. Call in, give enough detail to blame Allen's death on another man and then disappear again.

The murderer covering his tracks?

"Morse!"

He looked up as Jakes suddenly appeared next to him with all the impatience of someone being ignored.

"What?"

"What do you mean _what?_ I just called your name a dozen times! What are you looking at?"

Too late he tried to cover his own research, and Jakes managed to snatch up the description he'd taken from Isabel Vickery last night, as well as the arrows he'd drawn towards Allen's name below it.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me".

He quickly grabbed the notebook out of his hands and shoved it in a desk drawer.

"You're still working the case? _Seriously?_"

"Yes, _seriously!_" He snapped, "Because if I don't, then who the hell will?"

"You still don't believe that Bannon killed that man".

It wasn't a question.

Morse answered anyway.

"I don't believe Bannon killed _anyone_. Not even himself".

Jakes growled in frustration, "And why the bloody hell not?! He had the means, motive, and opportunity. He was dirt poor, he had abysmal living conditions, and suicide was his only way out! Or, wait, is that is? Is suicide too _immoral_ for your righteous brain to consider? What, do you think it's _cowardly?_ That you're too _good_ to even consider it?"

"Of course not!" He argued hotly, "God, _I_ of all people-"

He abruptly stopped, teeth clacking together harshly as if suddenly realising he'd said too much. Which, Jakes belatedly realised, he had. 'I of all people' he'd said, which… did that mean, at one point in his life, he'd tried to-

"It wasn't suicide" Morse said again, quieter this time.

"How do you know?"

"I just… I just _do_" He replied, clearly frustrated, "There was something… something _off_ about where we found him".

"In his bed? Quite frankly, Morse, that's about the best place you can die in".

"No, no, it wasn't the _bed_, it was…" He trailed off, thinking hard, brow furrowed and eyes distant, "… Max said morphine overdose, right?"

Oh, so not only did the doctor know about Abigail first, but they were apparently on a first name basis too.

"Yea. A lethal dose, enough to put him to sleep forever. He said it would've kicked in almost immediately, that Bannon wouldn't have felt a thing".

"Kicked in almost immediately…"

Soft lips suddenly parted in surprise; a look Jakes knew well by now.

"What is it? What are you thinking of?"

"Almost _immediately_" He repeated, "Max said that? How immediately?"

"Do I look like a doctor to you?" Jakes replied, getting more and more annoyed by how close the younger man seemed to be with the pathologist, "_Immediately_ immediately! A few seconds, perhaps a minute, maybe a minute and a half if we stretched it".

"_That's it_" Morse whispered, suddenly jumping up and taking three long strides to the evidence board, pulling off a picture and tossing it at Jakes who only barely caught it in time.

"Look at that photo. What's missing from it?"

He frowned, "I don't need to look at a photo, Morse, I was _there_. And what the hell do you mean 'what's missing from it'?"

"Almost immediately" He said again, beginning to pace, "The morphine would've put him on the ground in less than a minute. But we found him in bed, lying down, arms crossed. He was- He was _peaceful_ looking, serene, content, like he'd simply planned to go to sleep".

"Yea. _Forever_".

"No! No, you're _not_\- you don't get it!" He tugged at his hair in frustration, "He worked in a _pharmacy_, he knew first-hand how much morphine he would have needed to die. We found him in his bed, where he had clearly laid down himself. He hadn't fallen on it, he hadn't collapsed as he died, he had _put himself there_".

"Okay" Jakes said, "So what? The kid plans on killing himself, lies down on his bed, shoots up and dies".

Morse spun around to face him, "_Exactly_".

Marching over, he stabbed an accusatory finger at the photo in Jakes hand, "So what's missing from this photo?"

Frowning, he turned back to it, eyes flashing over the dead body, the rumpled bed sheets, the bare nightstand, the-

"_The injection_" He whispered suddenly.

"The injection" Morse confirmed, eyes bright and wild, "If he took the overdose in bed, then where's the injection? He couldn't have taken it anywhere else, because there wouldn't have been enough time to lie down like that. S_o where is it?_"

"Officers didn't find any drugs on the scene" Jakes replied, standing up to rifle through the evidence box on the counter, "That's why we thought we thought it was natural cause. The coroner didn't find anything strange either, and DeBryn only realised it was an overdose after Thursday told him to treat it as suspicious".

He came up empty handed.

"But there's no injection".

Turning back, he found Morse grinning wildly at him, and he had the sudden urge to find out what that smile tasted like.

"We have to tell Thursday ' He said instead, fingernails digging into his palms to distract himself, "This is the proof we needed".

* * *

"So, let me get this straight" Thursday said, slowly puffing on his pipe, "Bannon was found guilty of killing Allen, committed suicide because he couldn't handle the guilt, and Superintendent Bright closed the case… which you then continued to work on against all orders and now have a new theory for that goes against everything we previously considered fact?"

"Yes sir" Morse said simply.

Jakes coughed awkwardly by his side.

The governor turned to him, "… And you just _let_ him?"

"Sir I didn't even _know_-"

"I'm not a _child_ that-"

"Save it" He interrupted, letting out a heavy sigh as he stared at the two of them.

They obediently shut up.

"… You know what the worst part is?" Thursday eventually asked, "I'm not even surprised".

Hauling himself to his feet, he gave the younger officer an exasperated look, "Something suspicious in a saint's sock drawer, Morse, _honestly_".

At least he had the decency to duck his head, cheeks flushing, embarrassed, but Jakes had a clear view of the fond look the inspector gave him in response.

"Come along then" He said, putting out his pipe, "Best inform Bright".

* * *

Bright was a lot less kind, and acted less like the warm-hearted grandfather and more like the cold-hearted headmaster.

"You _explicitly_ went against orders, acting behind _your_ _superior's_ back, and continued to question _suspects_ on a case that was _no longer_ yours to _work!_"

"The victims sister was _hardly_ a suspect-"

"Silence!" He snapped, "Do you even _understand_ the meaning of the word 'no', Morse?"

He blinked.

"No sir".

Jakes had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Unfortunately, much like the aforementioned headmaster, Bright seemed to have a knack for finding disobedience in a crowded room.

"You can go ahead and wipe that _smirk_ right off of your face, Sergeant" He glared, "If this gross insubordination happened in _any_ other precinct, _I'd have your badge_".

"_Sir_-" Thursday began, but was once again silenced by a raised hand in his direction.

Bright pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, "… The lack of injection confirms it was murder?"

"Yes sir" Morse replied.

"And the pathologist can verify this?"

He nodded.

"… Then as much as I loathe to say it, Morse, I believe it's time to reopen the case".

* * *

Leaving Bright's office had them all feeling a conflict of emotions.

On one hand, the case being reopened led to happiness and satisfaction, as they could now get Bannon and Allen the justice they deserved. On the other hand, it caused fear and uneasiness, because if what Morse was saying was true... it meant that they had a serial killer on their hands.

And an incredibly smart one too.

* * *

"Oh, hey, before I forget" Morse said suddenly, glancing back at Jakes, "What's your favourite colour?"

Even Thursday stopped to stare at him for that one.

Jakes frowned, "… Excuse me?"

"Your favourite colour" He replied easily, "I have it in good authority that most normal people have one. Abby wants to know".

_What in the name of-_

"I don't know" He found himself answering, before looking up into sky-coloured eyes, "… Blue, I guess".

Morse nodded like this was a normal conversation and he was perfectly sane as he returned to his desk.

"Blue. Alright. I'll pass it on".

"… Do I want to know why?"

"Not unless you want to volunteer mopping paint off my kitchen floor this weekend, no".

Thursday smiled knowingly and disappeared into his own office.

"… _Okay_" He finally replied at length, and Morse smirked, "It's nothing bad. Don't worry about it".

Yea, like _that_ was so reassuring.


	6. Six

**Six**

The weekend brought with it sun and a well-deserved rest, and Morse was glad to be able to put the case at the back of his mind for a few hours.

It also gave him time to do other things.

"Elizabeth Laskey, please".

"Down the hall, second door on the left".

He nodded at the nurse and squeezed Abby's hand as she grinned up at him.

Thanks to the case, they hadn't been able to see Mrs Laskey yet, though Morse had kept himself up to date with her condition from multiple phone calls to the nurses' station. Abby had clearly missed her, though she was far from complaining about spending more time with Monica, and so here they were, one entire week after the accident.

"Abigail!"

He let go of her hand as she rushed down to the bed at the end of the room.

"And Mr Morse! How lovely to see you!" Mrs Laskey continued, smiling broadly.

She was a feeble looking woman at the best of times, but stronger than nearly anyone else he knew, and looked back at him with sharp brown eyes.

"How are you, Mrs Laskey?"

"I'm doing well, thank you, but how many times do I have to tell you to call me Elizabeth?"

"As long as you call me 'Mr Morse', I'm going to call you 'Mrs Laskey'" He replied smiling, taking a seat next her bed.

"Well, this entire problem could be solved if you'd just tell me your proper name. Then we could both be on first-name basis".

"I doubt even my own boss knows my first name, Mrs Laskey, and I'll gladly keep it that way".

"What an impertinent little boy you must have been".

"Oh, you have no idea".

She smiled once more, and Abby giggled, climbing up to sit on the edge of her bed.

"I made you a get well soon card!"

Mrs Laskey carefully took the red and blue glittered contraption from her hands.

"It's _beautiful!_ I'll put it up here on the bedside table, and that way everyone who comes in will know what a wonderful artist you are!"

She flushed under the praise, suddenly turning shy.

The elderly woman turned back to Morse.

"I don't suppose you're the one working my case, no?"

"Different precinct" He replied regretfully, "Technically, you weren't in our part of town, and that combined with the fact I _know_ you, means some other bloke got the job".

She sighed, "And here I was, hopeful they'd actually catch that horrible man".

"You _saw_ the driver?"

"Only very briefly, the car was dark inside, but I _can_ tell you that he was fair, and his eyes were far darker than they had any right to be. It was almost as if he _purposely_ hit me".

Morse frowned, resting his head on his hand as he leant forwards.

"You're saying he knew what he was doing? That he _meant_ to hit you?"

"Well, maybe not _me_, exactly, but certainly whoever stood in his way" She replied, "I had dropped a shopping bag, and quickly went back to fetch it when he came around the corner. The funny thing is, I could have _sworn_ that I passed that car only a few minutes before because it was parked at the side of the road. And then, all of a sudden, there it was, heading straight for me" She shook her head, "And the other side of the road being free from traffic and all, there was no bloody good reason he couldn't have swerved".

"Have you told the police this?"

"Oh, sure. Two young lads in uniform arrived a day or two after I got here, but I could tell they didn't take me seriously. Probably believed I was a mad old woman who thought the world was out to get her…"

Mrs Laskey dropped hiz gaze and patted Abby's hand.

"But enough about all that. Tell me, my dear, what have you been up to since then?"

* * *

Hoisting Abby up in his arms, Morse carefully manoeuvred them around the empty trolley's and stacks of surgical equipment, before knocking on the pathologist's door.

"Doctor?"

"Office!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he made his way through the thankfully body-and-or-blood-less room and stepped into the far cheerier study beyond.

"Max!"

He looked up and smirked, "Well, hello there, Miss Abigail, isn't this a nice surprise?"

Setting her down, Morse ruefully smiled, "Sorry to barge in on you like this, but we were in the hospital anyway and I had a few questions and-

"-and you correctly assumed I'd be in on one of my _rare_ weekends off redoing paperwork because _somebody_ had to go and reopen a _closed_ case?"

He ducked his head.

"I said I was sorry".

DeBryn sighed and turned to face the other occupant of the room.

"And how are you fairing today, little lady?"

"Good" She grinned, "I made you a card!"

"And it's not even my birthday, I'm honoured" He replied, gladly taking the green paper she held out, "Any special occasion?"

"Yes" Morse replied wryly, "Monica bought her paint".

"Ah. The dreaded card-making phase, then?"

"Got it in one".

"I made one for Mr Peter too!" Abby was quick to interject, and DeBryn frowned, "Mr-?"

"Jakes".

He stopped.

And stared.

And quickly bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

"Your daughter made a card for Jakes?"

"It's a 'thank you' card. He gave her a crossword".

"_Morse's daughter_ made a_ thank you card_ for _Sergeant Jakes?_"

"Max-"

"You'll have to give it to him. The card. _You_ have to hand _Jakes_ a _card_" He continued, grinning ruthlessly, "Can I be there?"

"_Max!_"

"Oh, alright, I'm only teasing you… Though I would love to see his face".

"Back to the case. Now. Please".

The doctor sighed and set down his pen on top of the paperwork he'd been filling out.

"Go on then, ask away".

Morse took an old crossword clipping and a pencil from his bag and gave it to Abby to keep her occupied, and she happily went over to the couch in the corner of the room to fill it out.

"It's about the poison".

"Vickery's poison or Allen's poison?"

"Both" He replied, "Bannon was killed with morphine. What about the other two?"

"You're looking for a connection".

He nodded.

DeBryn sighed once more, "Well then, I hate to be the bearer of bad news Morse, but there isn't one. Three different drugs were used in the three different cases".

He stretched slightly to reach the pile of files on the desk, and pulled two from the stack.

"Let's see… Sarah Vickery. Thallium poisoning".

Morse frowned, "_Thallium?_ But that takes time to kick in".

"And it did" He replied, "She'd been ingesting it over a long period of time. It's colourless, odourless, and tasteless, so she wouldn't have known. It's also _incredibly_ painful with such a varying degree of symptoms, that she likely thought it was something else… There was the so-called 'thallium craze' in Australia during the 1950's, which is where it got its name of being the 'poisoners poison'. Quite deliberate, but unlikely to be found".

"And Roger Allen?"

"CI-581".

"Which is-?"

Max glanced up, "Commonly known as ketamine".

"Ketamine? But that's… that's _new_. How would the killer have access to that?"

"He could be a researcher? One of the scientists working on it? Or…"

Morse raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"… Or he could have tested on" He said reluctantly, "I've read reports where ketamine was tested on prisoners during '64. Primarily in America, but…"

"But you wouldn't put it past our own government either" He finished, and the doctor nodded, "There's talk of giving it to Vietnam soldiers as anaesthesia soon. _After_ extensive tests have been carried out, of course".

He smirked sarcastically, "And who better to test drugs on than prisoners?"

* * *

"DeBryn said it's been used on English prisoners?" Thursday asked, and Morse nodded, "Said he'd come across a few reports, deeply buried, of course. I searched around over the weekend myself, and found one or two in the Bodleian".

"And this means… _what_, exactly?" Jakes asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Well, if it was tested on prisoners, then they'd obviously have access to it. The killer doesn't fit the profile of a scientist, but a recently released convict on the other hand…"

"You think it's an ex-con? That's our man?"

"It all fits. It explains how he has access to the drugs, why he hasn't been on our radar before this, even why he's as muscular as the descriptions given".

Thursday slowly nodded, "Okay, so here's what we know. Male, English, white, mid-30s to mid-40s, 50 at a push, and most likely recently released from prison with a violent past".

"Yes sir".

"… Get the word out, then start searching. I'll inform Bright" He replied, and they quickly stood to leave, "And track down this anonymous caller!"

* * *

"The call was placed a from a payphone a few miles outside of town" Jakes explained, sliding into the passenger seat, "There might be cameras".

Morse nodded, waiting until both doors were shut before suddenly turned to face him.

He swallowed nervously.

Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a piece of blue paper and handed it over, "Here".

Jakes frowned, slowly taking it and trying desperately not to think about how warm it was from the younger man's body heat.

"What's this?"

"Your card" He said simply, "Abby made it".

Turning it over, he was met with a crudely drawn police officer and a giant 'thank you' written in childish scrawl above it. Inside, that same writing said "Dear Mr Peter, thank you very much for the crossword, love Abby". There was even three x's at the end of her name.

It was a card.

A thank you card.

From Abigail.

Morse cleared his throat awkwardly, "I, uh… I didn't think you'd appreciate me giving it to you inside, what with the lads and their snide remarks and all so… you know, there you go".

Jakes blinked, trying to remember the last time he got a card from someone who wasn't a distant relative at Christmas time.

"… You don't have to keep it" He suddenly said, "I just told Abby that I'd give it to you, but I understand if you don't- I mean it's- it's from a child so you- you probably don't want to-"

He never had.

"I love it".

"… What?"

"I love it" He replied honestly, glancing up with a rare genuine smile, "_Really_".

"You… _Okay_" Morse said haltingly, "You love it… You… You _love_ it. Okay".

He quickly turned back around in his seat and started the Jag's engine, a faint flush dusting both cheeks, and Jakes couldn't help but continue to stare and smile.

Abby had made him a card.

_Morse_ had given him a _card_ from his _daughter_.

... He really did love it.

* * *

"Well that was a waste of time" Jakes snapped, storming out of the store, and Morse couldn't help but agree.

They had found the payphone that the anonymous call had been sent from, and were elated to find that the nearest store had a security camera outside. They were less elated to question the owners and find that the camera was only for show and didn't actually record anything.

"There could be more" He tried to reassure, looking around, "Or if not, then maybe a witness?"

"In a place like this?"

Morse sighed.

The village was quite small, and quiet too.

"Look, there's some sort of bed and breakfast a few doors down. They might know something".

Jakes took off with a determined, if not childish, step, and he quickly followed.

* * *

Once inside, they got their fair share of stares. A new face in a place like this was something to talk about and news travelled fast when everyone knew each other. But on the plus side, that might just work in their favour.

Walking over to the bartender, Morse flashed his badge, "Oxford City Police. We'd like to ask you a few questions".

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" He joked.

"No sir. We were just wondering if you have cameras on the premises?"

"I do, out back, and one above the door here, as well, but nothing that faces the street" the man replied, frowning, "Is there someone you're trying to find?"

"A man placed a call in that phone box outside last Thursday afternoon. We're hoping to talk to him".

The bartender slowly put down the glass he was cleaning and leant against the bar.

"Last Thursday… I can't say I saw him, I'm afraid. Thursday's usually a quite day, around here".

"Which I'm sure the killer was counting on" Jakes muttered.

"I can ask my barmaid for you, if you like?" He continued, "MARGARET!"

A pretty blonde girl appeared from the kitchen; no more than sixteen years old.

"These gentlemen are with the police" He explained, "They're looking for a man who used the old payphone last Thursday".

"Did you see anyone?" Morse asked.

She slowly shook her head, "Not _using_ the phone, no, but- Thursday last, you said?"

He nodded.

"There _was_ a man who came in here briefly, sometime after lunch" She explained, "He wanted change. I gave him a few coins for a pound note, and he left again. Maybe he used it?"

"The phone only takes coins" the bartender added helpfully, and Morse shared a look with his partner.

"Can you describe this man for me?" Jakes asked, fishing out his notebook and pen.

Margaret frowned, "I think so. He was tall, wide shouldered. I think he had light-coloured hair, but… I'm not too sure. We get a lot of people in here every day. If he weren't a stranger, I wouldn't have paid him any attention at all… he was rough looking, though".

"Rough looking?"

"Yea, you know, like… he'd be travelling a while, or hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a few days".

_Well that could happen while on the run_, Morse thought sardonically.

"His clothes didn't entirely fit, either" She continued, "And his hair was a right mess. He was rough looking".

"Right, well, thank you for your time" Jakes finished, flipping the notebook shut, "We'll be in contact if we need anything else".

* * *

Getting out of the car back at the station, Jakes quickly turned back to grab the blue 'thank you' card before shutting the door. He could feel Morse staring at him, subtly, no doubt wondering what he was going to do with it.

He hadn't been wrong, after all, the lads inside would tease him mercilessly if they saw it, _but you know what_, he thought fiercely, _fuck them_.

Raising his chin, he strode into the building purposefully, not an ounce of self-consciousness in his frame.

Reaching his desk, he opened the card so it could stand up straight, and placed it right next to his typewriter. Already, he could hear the snorts and smirks from the uniformed officers around him, and he quickly made eye contact and glared at them, _daring_ them to say something, _anything_, about his prized possession.

Thankfully, they were all wise enough to keep their mouths shut.

And besides, even if Jakes _hadn't_ loved the card, even if _hadn't_ wanted to take it, and even if he _hadn't_ decided to display it on his desk in full view of everyone… The little smile Morse gave when he saw it made it _entirely_ worth the while.


	7. Seven

**Seven**

It'd been an entire four weeks since the first of the triple homicides and they were still no closer to solving it.

"The brass are reigning down Bright's neck" Jakes said, lighting a cigarette, "So if we don't get another lead soon, we may actually lose our jobs".

"Well it's not through lack of trying" Morse scowled, running a hand through his hair, and Jakes was momentarily transfixed by the way the sunlight trickled through it.

He wondered how many minutes he'd lost this past week alone because of that hair.

Probably best he didn't think about it.

Thursday entered not a minute later, remaining in the pen rather than going to his own office.

"Anything from Rigsby?"

"Nothing yet, sir" Morse replied, standing up, "I've explained the situation surroundings Bannon's death, but he said he doesn't know of anyone who'd fit our killer's description".

"And Vickery's family?"

"Knew nothing asides from the description the sister gave us".

He hummed lowly, staring at the evidence board.

"… Thallium, Doctor DeBryn said?"

"Yes sir. Ingested over a long period of time before her death".

"But why Thallium?" He asked, "He obviously knew what he doing, and he knew that he _was_ going to kill her, so why draw it out?"

"If he'd just been released from prison, then maybe he was using her as a way back into society" Jakes suggested, "Money, clothes, food, that kind of thing".

"And when she outlived her usefulness…" Morse trailed off meaningfully.

"Didn't the sister mention she had a savings account?"

"Yea, but she redrew everything she had about a month before her death. Just shy of twenty pounds, according to the bank".

"Enough to set up our killer for a few days. Are there any reports of where she spent it?"

"No sir. No receipts, no written transactions, nothing".

Jakes leant against the edge of his desk, "So she meets a convict, believes his sob story, and gives him her life savings. Then he kills her for being a decent person… Could be our motive".

Morse shook his head, "No, too simple. This man is intelligent, precise, he's planned out everything to the last detail… He had a reason for choosing her, just as he'll have a reason for choosing his next victim".

"His _next_ victim?" Thursday asked sharply, "You don't think he's done?"

"He won't be done until we catch him" He replied, "Every murder, every body we've found, it's getting more advanced, more complicated. He's _purposely_ making it dangerous to get a thrill… Upping the game, as it were".

"The game" Jakes scoffed, "Sick bastard. I swear, I'll make him _lose_ this bloody game if the last thing I do!"

"You can't lose a game if you don't play the game".

His eyes were glazed over.

He frowned, "Morse?"

"Hmm?"

Jakes stared, "… Something about losing a game?"

"Oh! Uh… Just a line this reminds me of. Shakespeare".

"Any one I'd know?"

He gave a sardonic smile, "Well, it ends with four murders and the double suicide of an underaged girl and her adult lover, but people still call it a romance".

"... Not Macbeth, then".

* * *

Thursday ignored him and instead focused on the youngest of the three, who was still staring at the board with a curious look on his face.

"You believe the killer's doing all this for _fun?_ Wind them up and watch them go?"

"Most likely. He's a genius, but with genius, comes the need for a challenge".

"So he's leaving more and more trails for us to follow. He purposely chose a small town to make that anonymous call from, knowing he'd be remembered. The _arrogance_".

"No, not arrogance".

Jakes opened his mouth to argue, but then Morse grimaced and continued, "I mean, it _is_ arrogance, but that _wasn't…_ I think he was sending us a message".

"By trading a pound note for a couple coins?" He asked in disbelief.

"No, by being _able_ to do that. He's arrogant and he's narcissistic but above all else, he's a _survivor_. He wouldn't have gone into that pub if there was a chance of him getting caught. He calculated the risks and came up with… well… _zero_".

"So he's saying we're terrible at our jobs?"

"Yes".

Thursday huffed unimpressed, and Morse frowned.

"No, I mean… We're playing the game, _his_ game, but we're not-" He sighed, frustrated, "It's like… it's like pitting children against the English rugby team. Everyone knows what they have to do and how to do it, but it's only those who've played before that'll win… This killer holds all the cards. He knows exactly what's going to happen next, so compared to him we're just…"

"Mice in a cage" Jakes caught on, stabbing out his cigarette with perhaps more force than necessary, "The son of a bitch is _bored_".

"And what a better way to alleviate that boredom than to go up against _Oxford's finest?_" Morse finished sarcastically, "We're not on an even playing field, and we probably never will be, but we're as close to a worthy opponent that he can have. That's why he went into that pub; not because he's _that_ arrogant, but because he _wants_ us to find him".

"But what's the point in playing the game if he's going to lose?"

"Recognition. Appreciation" He said, "He wants to be seen, to prove to himself that he _can_ be seen… He's a genius, with all of these ideas and plans and… and he just wants to be _seen_. To find someone who understands how his mind works as well as he does… I think that's the worst thing that can happen to a person… having no one who _understands_…"

His eyes were distant, haunted, staring unseeingly at the evidence board, and Thursday looked worried.

"Right then, I don't know about you lot, but I could do with a lunch break. Pop down to the store for a sandwich for me, would you?"

He gave a meaningful look at Jakes, who quickly caught on and stood.

"Wotcher Morse, stand to attention, you can't expect me to carry the lot myself".

He shook his head as if to clear it, before suddenly seeming to realise what had just been said.

Morse turned to Thursday and frowned, "The store? But it's Tuesday. Luncheon meat".

"Win's got a rather bad cold, I'm afraid" He lied, "So no sandwiches today. Be a lad and fetch me one without onion".

He slowly nodded, still somewhat dazed, and quickly grabbed his coat.

Thursday met Jakes gaze over his tawny hair and gave him a pointed look.

_Talk_.

Jakes nodded before averting his attention, "We haven't got all day, Morse, hop too".

* * *

It was cold, and both men shivered once they stepped outside. Morse turned the collar of his coat up to battle the wind, but Jakes used it as an excuse to step closer to the younger man. It wasn't strictly necessary, but he could make up a lie about body heat if asked, and besides, Morse wasn't complaining.

They walk for a few minutes in silence, Morse lost in his thoughts and Jakes trying desperately to find some way of stopping him. He isn't sure how to bring up the whole _'hey you went to a pretty dark place back there and I'm worried that you're relating to a psychopathic mass murderer so is everything alright?'_ topic without it sounding forced, so for now he presses his arm, shoulder to wrist, against the younger man's and simply hopes it's enough.

But Thursday would frown disapprovingly if he didn't get him to talk, and Jakes sighed with the realisation. He wasn't good at this whole _feelings _thing, and his 'emotional unavailability' had been the exact thing his last boyfriend and two girlfriends had broken up with him for. He found it easier to talk to Morse about it, though, or, rather, _not_ talk, as the case may be. The younger man didn't feel the need to fill silence, something which he was eternally grateful for, and never once mentioned any sort of emotion to him before.

Then again, he'd also never mentioned the fact he had a five-year-old _child_ either, so maybe he wasn't that good a role model.

Either way, it meant a lot of silences and very few _"I feel like"_'s which he thinks is what Thursday was hoping him to do. Jakes mentally swore. _Okay_. He could do this. It was easy. Just a simple_ 'hey, you worried me back there, and I think you're too involved in this case'_. A little confrontational, perhaps, but straight to the point was probably a good idea in this scenario. _Okay_. Just… open his mouth and… say it. Say _that_. _That_ sentence. Just open his mouth and-

* * *

Morse abruptly stilled next to him.

Jakes stopped and quickly backtracked, "You alright?"

He nodded, staring in the shop window but not seeming to actually see anything.

Now was his chance.

"Uh, listen, Morse, there's something-"

"Let's go".

He stood there; mouth open for another moment.

_What the-_

"Are you coming, or aren't you?"

He half jogged to catch up.

Maybe Morse could sense it, this whole big emotional talk they were about to have, hanging in the air like a cloud above him. Maybe he had some sort of superpower that allowed him to avoid ever having to mention his own emotions. He was certainly buttoned up enough. But this was going to happen, whether he like it or not, because if Jakes didn't say something, anything at this rate, then Thursday would skin him alive and he really doesn't want to die without knowing what that smile tastes like. So. Round three. _Go_.

"Morse-"

"We're being followed".

* * *

Of all things he expected to come out of the genius's mouth, _that_ most certainly did not make the list.

"We're being _what?_"

"Followed. Someone's following us. About twenty feet back" He replied, "I noticed him when we left the station, but I wasn't sure".

"And now you are?"

"Well, he's taken the same four turns as us and stopped when I hovered by the store window a few minutes ago before starting up again when we continued walking so yes, Jakes, I'm bloody sure".

"_Fuck_".

Right now, he was feeling many different emotions. Thursday would be proud.

"What do we do?" He asked.

"… Do you trust me?"

Jakes frowned, turning to face him, "What? Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged, "Good enough".

Then suddenly, Morse was grabbing his hand and pulling him across the road and ignoring the blaring car horns and tires screeching and exclaiming, "_Run!_"

* * *

He ran.

* * *

Dashing across the street, Jakes struggled to stay level with the younger man, Morse's hand warm and tight around his own and urging him on. They cut through side streets and alleys and around pedestrians and dogs and he couldn't hear anything above the wind whipping at his face and the pounding of his heart matching the footsteps behind them. Then, just as suddenly as they had begun, they stopped, as Morse skidded to a halt and yanked him down a tiny alleyway before pressing him against the back wall.

He panted desperately for breath.

"Morse, what-"

A hand clamped over his mouth.

He breathed heavily through his nose.

They were standing close, closer than they had ever stood before, and Morse's rumbled coat brushed against his own with ever laboured breath.

His hair was just as wild, windswept and decidedly Byronic-esque looking. His head was turned to the side, facing the entrance to the alley, but Jakes could still make out his features in the darkness, and how his usually sunny blue eyes blazed ravenously with adrenaline.

Jakes felt the sudden forbidden urge to kiss him.

* * *

"_Look!_"

He quickly snapped out of it and turned to face the street, dislodging the warm hand over his mouth in the process. He mourned its loss for however long it took him to make out the figure on the street, before the man standing in the alleyway entrance consumed his attention.

He was the man that'd been following him, Jakes was sure of it.

They couldn't make out much in the darkness, but thankfully it was protecting them as well as the stranger, and their hiding place wasn't found out. He was short and slight, with a long coat and a hat and scarf covering most of his face.

After a moment or two of unsuccessful searching, he turned and left, and Morse let out a heavy breath, all but collapsing against Jakes' chest.

"That was a close one" He mumbled, finally turning to face him, but whatever words the younger man was about to say, died in his throat when he realised how close they suddenly were.

Pressed together like this, in a dark alleyway, no less, it was positively _indecent_, Jakes thought, and immediately wondered just how much more he could get away with in their temporary haven.

Morse's gaze stayed on his for another moment before flickering to his mouth and he felt a certain surge of hope and _yes_ this is _it_ this is the _proof_ I need god talk about getting _emotional_ Thursday will be so damn _proud_-

A sudden horn blaring from the street jolted him, and Morse jumped back as if stung.

He cleared his throat, "We should- We should try and follow him. Find out who he is. And get the- the sandwiches. For lunch".

That was the last thing Jakes wanted to do right now.

"Yea, that's… that's probably a good idea" He said instead, straightening out his clothes, "Let's go".

* * *

The street was a dead end, the stranger having long disappeared by the time they righted themselves and made their way back out into the light. So instead, they continued to the shop, bought three sandwiches, and returned to the station to debrief Thursday.

"And you didn't get a good look at him?"

"No sir. He was short, scrawny looking, but that was it" Morse replied, "He seemed to vanish once he couldn't find us".

He didn't mention the whole 'pressed together in a dark alleyway' part.

Probably for the best.

"Not our man then?" Thursday asked, and Jakes started when he realised the possibility of a connection, but Morse shook his head.

"He doesn't fit any description we've been given, and his build was too slight to disguise. It wasn't the killer".

"Alright… I don't like it, but there's nothing we can do right now. Dismissed".

They both nodded and turned to leave.

"Sergeant, a quick word before you go".

Morse gave him an odd look but Jakes replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, one which quickly fell after the door was shut behind the younger man.

* * *

"Did he say anything?" Thursday asked quietly.

He sighed, "Nothing. He seemed lost in his head for the first block, and then there was a lot of running and ducking into shady alleyways. We both had a lot on our mind on the way back".

He frowned, "I don't like this. There's something different about his case, something almost _personal_… I don't want him getting hurt. Not again. _Never_ again".

_Over my dead body_, Jakes thought but didn't say.

"I want you to keep an eye on him" He continued, "Unofficially, of course. The last thing we want Superintendent Bright finding out and taking him off the case. He's the best we have, but he won't be much use at home, or, _god forbid,_ a bloody _hospital._ Watch his back, you hear me?"

"Yes sir".

"_I mean it_, Jakes" He said, eyes piercing, "Don't let him get too involved. If not for his sake, then at least do it for Abigail's. I don't _ever_ want to explain that the reason her dad's not coming home is because we couldn't look after one of our own. Dismissed".

* * *

He was simultaneously annoyed and amused that Thursday still thought he held some sort of ill intent for the younger man. They were friends now, _finally,_ and perhaps even something more, if this afternoon was anything to go by, and for the guvnor to imply that he didn't care if Morse got injured or not…

Well.

It was also somewhat insulting.

Mentioning Abigail was a low blow, partially because why the _hell_ would someone bring _children_ into the same conversation as _murder,_ but mostly because Jakes knew full well that if Morse ever _was_ injured, or worse, while on the job, then he'd never forgive himself if he wasn't the one to tell her.

He at least owed the kid that much.

* * *

Returning to his desk, he wasn't surprised to see the man in question poured over the battered and fraying case files once more. He was involved in this case, of course he was, but perhaps Thursday was right and he was getting _too_ involved. He even worked on it during the weekend, after all, and he seemed to talk to that Rigsby kid at least once a day. Was he already _too_ involved?

Jakes could remember only all too well the affect the Calloway case had on him.

Morse never fully explained what his relationship was with the opera singer, and whether it got a bit more _personal_ than he'd told Bright, but it was clear that he'd been shaken to his core after her death.

He didn't want something like that happening to him again.

Thursday's belief that they were no more than somewhat-spiteful colleagues also reassured him, however. If the Inspector couldn't see his feelings for Morse, then surely the man himself had no idea, and Jakes wasn't being as obvious as he feared.

That brought forth another interesting thought.

_Would Thursday approve if he knew?_

Morse had dated in the past, surely, but had Thursday actually met any of them? Did he approve of anyone? Or would he have to _disapprove_ purely because he was Morse's unofficial father and that was what they did?

Jakes certainly couldn't see himself approving anyone that wanted to date Abigail, and he'd only met the girl once.

He turned and stared at Morse, contemplatively. His wild hair and his rumbled suit and those wide _vulnerable_ baby blues…

No.

Thursday would disapprove, guarantee it.

* * *

Morse finally sensed his gaze and glanced up, "Alright there?"

_Well, in for a penny in for a pound._

"Has the guvnor ever met someone you've dated?"

He stilled.

"… Excuse me?"

"Thursday. Has he ever met someone you've been in a relationship with?"

"I… _Why?!_"

"Just curious" He shrugged, "I wanted to know if he threatened them or not".

"Why the _hell_ would Thursday threaten someone I'm _dating?!_"

"Because he's adopted you and that's what father's do. Wouldn't you promise to do unspeakable things to someone Abigail brought home?"

"Of course I would, but- Hang on, he hasn't _adopted_ me! He's my boss, that's _it!_"

He was one hundred percent a lost cause.

He loved it.

Jakes sighed and turned back to his paperwork.

"You know, Morse, for someone so clever, you really can be an _idiot_ at times".


	8. Eight

**Eight**

Morse wasn't sure what woke him.

One minute he was sleeping dreamlessly and peacefully, and the next he was staring at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table as it flickered from 02:04 to 02:05. He blinked, entire body tense and hair standing on end. His bedroom door was still shut, so it wasn't Abby coming into him after a bad dream, but he didn't hear the creaking of water pipes from the kitchen or bathroom either.

But _something_ had woken him.

A faint creaking from outdoor his door had him sitting up in a flash. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hands gripping the mattress tightly.

Silence.

It could be nothing… _Or_.

* * *

Slowly standing, he silently pulled open the middle drawer in the bedside table, and removed his old army revolver from inside. Keeping his footsteps light, he crept over to the bedroom door, listening closely for a moment before flinging it open and taking aim.

The corridor was empty.

Quickly walking over to the door opposite, he pushed it open and glanced in.

Abby was still sound asleep in bed.

Carefully closing the door again, he made his way down the hall, gun at the ready. The bathroom was also empty, as was the living room, and the front door was still bolted shut.

Pausing outside the final room, he mentally counted to three before bursting in.

_Nobody_.

Morse let out the breath he'd been holding and flicked on the light, tucking the revolver into the waistband of his pyjamas.

He must have imagined it.

His hands were shaking.

Reaching for the nearest whiskey bottle, he took a decent mouthful and focused on the burn in his throat. He'd imagined it. Okay. That was… That was _okay_. Their current case was challenging and disturbing and more than a little frightening, and his nerves were on edge, that was all. He'd imagined it, he must have, he-

Morse stared at the foreign white envelope resting in the middle of the kitchen table.

* * *

_He'd definitely not imagined it._

* * *

Double checking the locks on the door proved futile; no intruder had broken in that way. The kitchen window was too small, as was the bathroom's, but the living room…

Two of the windows were secure.

The third was not.

Morse stared at the inch gap that had not been there the night before, cold night air drifting in and chilling his already frozen skin.

Someone had been here.

Someone had been in his flat.

Someone had been in his and Abby's _home_.

He slammed shut the window, redid the locks, and then yanked closed the curtains for good measure.

Someone had broken in.

Someone hadn't taken anything.

Someone had left something instead.

He turned on the living room lights, and then, after a moment, the hall light as well, suddenly not liking the lurking shadows around him as he slowly, _cautiously_, made his way over to the inconspicuous envelope lying on the old wooden table.

Swallowing nervously, he hesitated before deciding to reach out and turn it upside down, letting its contents spill out.

A syringe.

A white rose.

And a note.

_What the fuck_.

Leaning forwards, he craned his neck awkwardly to read the spindly writing without having to touch it. There was only one line written on the thin paper, in smudged black ink.

_'All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!'_

Morse frowned.

That was… _familiar_.

The syringe appeared to have a millimetre or two of clear-ish liquid, and the rose had missing petals and brown splotches.

He took a step back from the table.

He needed to call this in.

* * *

Being woken in the middle of the night by Strange's far-too-cheery baritone was by far one of Jakes' most hated starts to the day.

Being told that Morse's apartment had been broken into and the intruder left a message behind, replaced that ire with an all-consuming fear pretty quick.

_I don't want him getting hurt. Not again. Never again. Watch his back, you hear me?_

Oh god.

Thursday was going to kill him.

Stumbling around until he had his shoes on the right feet and his shirt was no longer backwards, he rushed to the station and made it in record time. Strange was already waiting in a car, and updated him on the situation as they travelled the short distance to Morse's flat.

A break-in. Nothing taken. Both unharmed. Evidence left behind. Thursday didn't know.

Jakes stared at him, "… You didn't ring _Thursday?!_"

He shrugged, "Morse said not to. Didn't want to get too many involved".

"Thursday's going to _freak.._. What a fucking lunatic".

Strange grinned in response.

* * *

The rest of his tiredness abruptly disappeared when the door was swung open to reveal a sleep-ruffled Morse wearing nothing but an undershirt and trousers and balancing a sleeping child in his arms.

Jakes' mouth immediately ran dry.

Morse barely glanced at him before turning to Strange and raising a solitary eyebrow.

"You said you didn't want a fuss, matey" He smirked, "And who better to care less than the Sarge?"

Jakes still couldn't tear his gaze away.

Morse sighed, "Just you two, then?"

"Just us" He replied, "Didn't think you'd want strangers traipsing around your flat, especially with the little one".

He gave a reluctant nod of thanks and stepped back to let them in.

"Did you touch anything?" Strange asked, immediately making his way over to the kitchen table.

"Just the envelope" Morse replied, shutting the door behind them, "I didn't want to get too close until CID got here".

"Just as well, matey" He replied, "Sure you don't want to give Thursday a call?"

"I'd rather he be a bit annoyed with me, than waking up his entire family at two in the morning".

"That's not how he'll see it" Jakes replied, making his way to the curtained window, "Is this is how the guy got in?"

"Broke the locks. Nothing was taken, and nothing else was left behind. It was a clean job, quick, efficient… obviously planned".

"And Abigail?" He asked, turning back to him. Morse glanced down at her and smirked, "Slept straight through. I only woke her briefly picking her up, and then she nodded off again, heavy sleeper that she is".

He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her little fist clutching Morse's night shirt, her other arm wrapped loosely around his neck, and he quickly cleared his throat and looked away as he caught Morse staring back.

"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

"I can-"

"You can sit down and shut up" He interrupted, giving him a look, "Or are you suddenly capable of carrying three mugs and a five-year-old at the same time?"

Morse looked suitably chastened and reluctantly moved over to the only armchair in the room, leaving Strange on the couch as Jakes went to find the tea.

* * *

He'd never been inside Morse's flat before, but he wasn't too proud to admit that he'd imagined it. At first, he'd only pictured books and alcohol and opera records, but that was before he knew about Abigail. In some ways, it was the same, as he found a large pile of Keats stacked on top of the fridge, but there was also a child's cuddly toy next to it. He found a bottle of whiskey and two sippy cups in the press where the mugs were stored, and _Der Prinz von Homburg_ balanced precariously on top of a paint set.

He couldn't help but shake his head at the absolute contradiction the man posed.

Carefully balancing the three cups of tea, he made his way back to the living room, setting them down on the small coffee table before taking the opposite side of the couch to Strange. He had his notebook open and flipped to a blank page, and was quickly scribbling down whatever Morse told him, acting for all intents and purposes like this was another victim whose flat got broken into. It didn't sit right with Jakes, thinking of Morse as a _victim_. He hadn't been hurt, thankfully, and nothing had been taken so, technically, he _wasn't_. But Jakes hadn't gotten a good look at the note yet, and wouldn't get the chance until CID came over in the morning to gather the evidence.

* * *

"'_All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!_'" Morse recited, "That's the only thing I could see, on the front side at least".

"In English?" Jakes asked bluntly.

He smirked, "Oh my god, what a terrible world this is… It's familiar".

"Any idea where it's from?" Strange asked, jotting it down, but Morse frowned, "It's Shakespeare, that much I do know. But from which play… not off the top of my head, no".

Jakes looks around the room, taking notes of all the plays and manuscripts and opera transcripts and wondering just how long it'd take to go through all of them.

Something shiny on one of the bookshelves made him freeze.

"You alright there matey?" Strange asked, watching confused as he jumped to his feet and marched over to the shelves directly behind Morse's armchair.

He used his handkerchief to pick up the weapon, "What is this?"

"A gun" He replied blandly, "You should know that, Sergeant".

He takes a calming breath, "Morse, where the _hell_ did you get a gun?!"

"It's mine".

"Not from the station it isn't".

"_What?_ Jakes, of course not! I didn't just go out and _steal_ a gun from Oxford Police!"

"Then where the hell did you get it from?" He asked, voice tight with restrained anger. Morse glared right back, "I spent two years in the army. Work it out".

"You were a cipher clerk!"

"I still had to complete basic training, idiot!"

"You can't have this, you- you-"

"I'm _what_, Jakes? Not a good enough shot? Is that it? You're scared that I'm better than you at yet another thing in the field?"

Abigail suddenly shifted unhappily before yawning loudly and blearily looking up at him, "Da'y?"

He immediately calmed, "I'm here, Abby".

She frowned, an adorable scrunch of her nose, "Angry?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm not angry" He soothed, brushing her hair back from her forehead, and Jakes felt all fight drain out of him at how resigned the younger man suddenly sounded.

Abigail shuffled in his lap so she could sit up, and her eyes latched onto Jakes almost immediately. "... Mr Peter?"

She was suddenly very _very_ awake.

"Hey kiddo" He replied awkwardly, quickly hiding the gun behind his back and earning a snort from Morse at the belated action.

Her frown only deepened as she looked from him to her dad and then back again, "Are you fighting?"

"Just a small disagreement, Abby, don't worry about it" Morse replied, coaxing her to lie her head against his shoulder again, "Go back to sleep for a while, okay? It's still dark out".

She reluctantly did as told, but narrowed her eyes at Jakes once situated, and he was mildly embarrassed to find himself feeling almost _ashamed_ under her scrutiny.

Morse began humming something classical under his breath, and within five minutes, she was asleep once more.

He replaced the revolver where he'd found it, "Morse-"

"Save it" He replied quietly, "Is there anything else, Strange?"

Jakes mentally cursed himself. He'd thought he was _getting_ somewhere with the younger man, especially after the almost _something_ yesterday afternoon, but now it felt like they were back at square one once more.

"Nothing for now, matey" Strange replied quietly, standing up, "But the Sarge and I will hang around until CID gets here, just in case".

"Thank you" He said genuinely, "I don't think I'll be getting much sleep, and I'm not letting go of Abby anytime soon, so both bedrooms are free if you want to kip for a few hours".

Strange easily agreed, but as much as Jakes wanted to see what Morse's room looked like, and even sleep on his bed, he equally didn't want to let the younger man out of his sight right now.

So he kicked off his shoes, swung his legs up on the couch, and stared at the white ceiling above him.

"… What are you doing?"

"Taking first watch" He replied, "I'm too wired to sleep right now".

From the corner of his eye, he saw Morse frown.

Sighing, he turned to look at him.

"Listen, Morse, about the gun-"

"I'm not getting rid of it just to make you happy".

"And I'm not asking you to" He reassured, "I just… I don't like the idea of you _needing_ to use it, that's all. But I didn't know how to tell you that, and it came out all wrong. I… I'm sorry".

_Damn you and your emotional talks, Thursday._

Morse slowly nodded, "Alright. I can… understand that, I guess. It's not like I _want_ to shoot somebody, but if I ever have to, and I _don't_ have it… I can't take that chance. Not with Abby".

Jakes glanced down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, now drooling on his bare shoulder, and smiled.

"We good then?"

"Yea" Morse replied, "We're good… Now go to sleep, I know you need it".

* * *

"_WHERE IS HE?!_"

Jakes winced as he heard the car door slam shut behind Thursday three floors down.

It was just after half eight in the morning, and CID were in the process of dusting for fingerprints and bagging the evidence.

He listened as a faint voice gave the old man directions, and then as loud angry footsteps thudded up the stairs.

"_Morse!_"

A nearby uniform squeaked and quickly got out of his way.

"Morse, I swear to _god_, this is the most stupid idiotic irresponsible thing that you have ever _ever_-"

He abruptly stopped as he slammed open the living room door.

Jakes couldn't blame him.

After waking up around five, he took second watch and told Morse to get some rest. Within half an hour, the man was out, sinking into the old armchair, both arms remaining wrapped around Abigail, who was still drooling on his chest. A few minutes after that, Jakes had gone into the man's bedroom, pointedly did _not_ smell his pillow thank you very much, and returned with a blanket to drape over the pair. And that's where they still remained, Abigail snuffling lightly, Morse's cheek pressed against her hair, both of them fast asleep.

Thursday sighed deeply, shoulders sagging, all fight seeming to leave his body at once.

"… I'll yell at him when he wakes".

"He didn't want to bother you or the family" Jakes explained, making his way over to the door to prevent the younger man from hearing, "He was trying to be polite".

"Polite to the point of _stupid_, is what he is".

"CID wanted to take photos" He said, "For blackmail, I believe".

"And you're telling me you haven't?"

"Innocent until proven guilty, sir".

Thursday gave him an exasperated look.

"What happened?"

"Someone broke in just after two this morning by breaking the locks on one of the windows, left a non-descript envelope on the kitchen table containing a syringe, a flower, and a note. Morse said the front of it had some line from Shakespeare, but didn't want to tamper evidence by turning it over. He called the station, Strange called me, and we both came over. Strange took his statement".

"They weren't hurt?"

"No sir" He replied, with no small amount of relief, "Morse only woke because he thought he heard something, but the intruder was long gone, and Abigail was still asleep".

Thursday turned back to the sleeping pair in the corner.

"I suppose I should be glad he called it in at all… Case related?"

Jakes frowned, "We're not sure. Morse thinks it is, but… there's no proof. Not yet, at least. CID says it'll take a few days to process everything, but we should have the envelope and it's contents back by the end of next week".

"Good work, Sergeant" He said, turning back to the door, "Let them sleep it off, then have them come down to the station to make a formal statement. You're both off duty till then".


	9. Nine

**Nine**

Once all was said and done, Thursday demanded that Morse stay with them for a few nights in Sam's old room. He protested, of course, but with CID still processing his flat, the locks on the window still broken, and the fact he had a five-year-old to protect, he eventually, _albeit reluctantly_, agreed.

Thursday stood guard while Morse packed a bag for him and Abby, before locking the apartment and handing the keys to the guard on duty. Abby remained clung to his side, her backpack almost larger than herself, as wide eyes peered around him to stare at his boss. She wasn't _afraid_ of Thursday, per say, but she was definitely nervous, as every small child was when suddenly faced with talking to an adult much bigger than them. But Morse nudged her forwards every few feet, and they made it to the car without incident.

Thankfully, Thursday didn't expect much in the way of conversation, and once they arrived, he parked and went in without a fuss, taking Morse's bag and leaving the younger man to carry Abby.

He awkwardly balanced her against his hip as he picked up her backpack.

"Daddy?" She whispered.

He hummed, shutting the car door behind him.

"… I'm scared".

He tried to look at her, but she resolutely kept her head buried in his neck.

"There's nothing to be scared of, Abby. Mr and Mrs Thursday are good people".

"Why couldn't we stay with Mon?"

Morse sighed, "Because she has her own life too, not to mind only one room!"

"We could both fit on the sofa".

"_Abby_".

"_Daddy_".

He stopped just outside the door to the house, and she leaned back to look at him.

"It's only for two or three days" He said, "You'll like it here, I promise".

"If you say so" She replied, not sounding half as sure.

* * *

They followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen where Win was bustling about making dinner.

"Come in, come in, I've just put the kettle on!" She exclaimed, smiling happily at them, and Morse couldn't help but smile back, already put at ease.

"Have a seat and I'll bring the cups right over".

"I can help with-"

"You can help with sitting down, is what you can help with" She replied, giving him a _look_.

Morse ducked his head, abashed, and did as told.

"Can I stay with you?" Abby whispered, and he nodded, awkwardly shifting until she could sit sideways on his lap, her bag at his feet.

"Fred's just gone to put your things in Sam's old room" Win continued, carrying over the tea pot, "He'll be down in a few minutes".

"Thank you, again, for letting us stay" He replied, "I know it's a bit of an inconvenience-"

"It's no such thing!" She objected, "It'll nice to have some noise back in the house again, what with Sam in the army now and Joan working at the bank. You're doing _me_ a favour, if anything".

She looked up as Thursday appeared at the door, giving him a strict order to put out cream and sugar, before turning down the stove, wiping her hands on a tea towel, and turning to face them properly.

"Now so. You must be the infamous Abigail".

She flushed and buried her head with a mumbled, "'m not notorious!"

Win blinked.

Thursday bit back a smile and turned to his bagman, "I suppose I should've guessed that she'd take after you. Where on _earth_ did she learn that?"

Morse smirked and gently pried her grasp from his shirt, turning her around until she had no other option but to face them.

"Well? Where _did_ you learn that?"

She blushed once more, but obediently recited the source.

"_'Why have you suffered me to be imprisoned, kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, and made the most notorious geck and gull, that ever invention played on'_… Malvolio says it".

They both stared.

"Shakespeare" Morse added helpfully, "_Twelfth Night_. We're just over half way through".

"… Well I'll be damned" Thursday finally said, staring at the little girl in awe, "You're going to be a right handful when you grow up, aren't you?"

"She's a right handful _now_" He replied wryly.

Abby scowled and spun around, "Am _not!_"

And just like that, the spell was broken, and she relaxed in his arms, all traces of shyness and nerves disappearing, content with their new temporary home.

* * *

Abby took to Joan like a duck takes to water, and it took quite a fair amount of begging and bribing for the little girl to realise her from her grasp, Win thankfully coming to the rescue with the promise of an extra biscuit before bed.

Morse remained standing at the edge of the room, watching Abby interact with the family, the _traditional_ family, stable and secure in a way that she had never known, and he couldn't help but wonder for the umpteenth time if he was doing the right thing raising her alone.

"Give it a few years, and she'll easily give even _you_ a run for your money in the old brains department".

He blinked, startled, and turned only to find Joan smiling at his side.

"Here" She said, pressing a cup of tea into his hands, "You look like you need it".

Frowning, confused, he went to take a sip, and the faint scent of whiskey almost immediately hit his nose. He glanced at her sideways, but she maintained the perfect poker face, taking a long draw from her own mug with a façade of innocence.

"Thanks" He said, and she grinned, "No problem".

Turning back, he watched as Abby listened attentively as Win explained the ins and outs of knitting, quite literally, and then tried to copy her movements with only marginal success.

"She's a great kid, you know".

Morse turned to the younger Thursday once more, only to find her gaze on the child as well.

"She is" He agreed, "Better than I ever could have hoped for, considering".

Joan slowly nodded, "I… I wanted to talk to you. Have been, for ages now, really, but… well, there just never seemed to be a right time".

"Is everything okay?"

"_Yea!_ Yea, everything's fine, better than fine, even… Better than I ever could have hoped for, considering" She parroted, nudging him playfully.

"Then what is it?"

"I just… We haven't really spoken since… _you know_" She said, suddenly serious, voice low to prevent her parents from overhearing, "And… And I wanted to say thank you. Properly".

"You already did" He said, still confused, and she nodded, "I know, I _know_ I did for… Sorry, this is a right mess, isn't it?"

"You don't have to-"

"I wanted to say thank you for not taking advantage" She interrupted, "There was a time when… when I probably would've done anything you'd asked of me. And you _knew_ that, but you didn't… I guess, what I'm trying to say, as weird as it sounds, thank you for _not_ asking me out".

Morse blinked, "… _Okay_".

She couldn't help but smile at his expression, "I know, it's not something you hear every day, but… I really am grateful. Especially now that I know about Abigail".

He glanced back on instinct, only to find that she'd mastered the first row of stitches, and was now studiously attempting to knit a second.

"Like I said, she's a great kid" Joan continued, "And if you had asked me out back then, I would have said yes. And we probably would have gotten serious. And then you'd have introduced me... And I would've ruined everything".

He turned back to her, alarmed, "Joan-"

"_No_, please, let me finish" She said, "I wasn't in a good place, back then. But you helped me, got me out, and _that_ alone is enough to indebt me to you. If you'd asked me out, I would have said yes, but I wouldn't have been able to stay. I knew it would end in flames, if you'd asked, which is why I was so glad you _didn't_… But now, seeing her, your _daughter_, Morse… I wouldn't have just broken one heart; I would have broken two".

She tried to subtly daub her eyes with a shirt sleeve, and he wordlessly held out a handkerchief.

"She's so… so _wonderful_. Smart, funny, cute… Just like _you_, I guess" She gave a watery laugh, "… But I could never have been her mother. I'm not ready for that, not yet, not after… _everything_. So, _thank you_, truly, because I'd never have been able to forgive myself otherwise".

She took a deep breath to compose herself, before scrunching up her nose with a grimace, "Also it would've been kinda weird since dad considers you my older brother".

"He _what?!_"

Joan's eyes glistened with tears and mischief, "I mean, you _are_ his third child so… you know. Incest is generally frowned upon, and all that. And at least this way, the burden of giving them their first grandchild has finally been lifted off my shoulders".

"But- You- She's not- How-"

She reached up to pat his cheek, "There, there, Morse, it's about time you realised. Welcome to the family".

He blinked, still bewildered and saddened and overjoyed and what the hell had he gotten himself into but she only laughed and took away his empty cup.

"Seriously, Mum and dad adore _you_ already. Poor Abigail had no chance at all".

She turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him standing there, mouth agape, and mind in turmoil.

Eventually regaining his senses, he looked back only to see his daughter proudly lift up her three rows of stitches to show Win, who beamed with pride and snuck her another biscuit. Across from them, pretending to read the newspaper, Thursday smiled widely and may or may not have had slightly teary eyes.

_Huh_.

Well, Morse finally decided, Abby could do _a_ _lot_ worse for grandparents.

* * *

It wasn't the first time they had to share a bed, considering for the first two and a half years of Abby's life they had been barely scraping by, but back then, she had been considerably smaller.

Morse winced as he got another knee to his back, and reluctantly admitted defeat, silently slipping out from warm covers before tucking them back around the sleeping child. It was early, too early for any sane man to be up, but not so early that he needed to turn on the lights as he pulled on his knee-length coat and crept downstairs to sneak outside.

The air was fresh and cold, bitterly so, but it did a fine job of waking him up, and he spend a long few minutes simply breathing it in and staring up at the stars. Their apartment block was located fairly close to the city centre, and it was rare that he could see the sky so clearly at night, so he basked in the natural world while he could.

The sound of the back-door opening startled him, and he turned only to see Win step out in slippers and a dressing gown.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Oh no, dear, don't worry yourself about that. Fred's _snoring_ has woken me many a night before and most certainly will again" She reassured, smiling as she came to a stop next to him.

"So, what has you up so early then, hm?"

"Abby's kicking" He reluctantly admitted, and she laughed, "She's even feisty in her sleep, then?"

"Trust me, you don't know the half of it".

In the darkness, it felt easier to talk.

"I saw you talking with Joanie earlier" She said, "Is everything alright between you two?"

"It couldn't be better. We had… a few things to talk through, but it's all sorted now".

"Good. She'd been worrying, you know. And then when she realised you had a _daughter…_ If only I had camera, I'd have taken a picture of her face".

He smirked and turned up the collar on his throat, awkwardly clearing his throat, "Yes, well, to be fair, I _am_ rather the last type of person you'd expect to have a _child_".

"I think fatherhood suits you" She replied, "Even if you _did_ keep it to yourself all these years".

She had a very unfathomable way of making him feel scolded without actually having to scold him.

"… I wanted to protect her" He finally replied, keeping his eyes on the stars, "From this sort of work. I guess… I don't know, I guess I just thought that the line would become blurred if Inspector Thursday knew about her".

"You policemen and your hat stands".

He turned to her, surprised, but she only shook her head in exasperation.

"We _care_ about you, Morse, and now we care about the little one, too. But there's being protective, and there's being_ over bearing_".

"I just… I worry about it, you know?"

The words came easily despite it being the first time he's said them.

"I worry that… that I'll mess up. Irreparably. And that five, six, _seven_ years down the line, she'll resent me for it".

Win sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close despite the height difference.

"Will I let you in on a little secret? As the mother of two grown children?"

He nodded.

"You never stop worrying".

He scowled, and she laughed.

"I'm sorry to have to break it to you Morse, but those nerves? That little voice at the back of your head?_ It never goes away._ Even now, when I watch Joanie go off to work in the morning, I'm wondering if I did the right thing, suggesting to her to work at the bank. Or if I'd mothered Sam a bit more, would he have stayed instead of joining the army? It doesn't get any easier, no matter how old they are".

She sighed, and leant more against him.

"But you want to know the good news?"

"There _is_ good news, then?"

Win turned to him, exasperated, "The _good_ news, is that it's worth _every damn minute_".

* * *

"So there" She finished, "From an old parent to a young one, that's the best advice I can offer. You worry, you fret, and you panic, but none of that means _anything_ when you see them smile. So don't stress yourself out too much, you hear me? You're doing fantastic just as you are, and neither Fred nor myself would have managed _half_ as well had we been in your shoes".

He frowned, glancing down at her questionably, but she only shook her head.

"I don't know the entire story, if that's what you're wondering. I just know what Fred told me, and even that wasn't a whole lot".

"I haven't even told Abby everything" He admitted, "Not to mind anyone one else".

"Do you want to?"

He found only curiosity and concern in her eyes, and turned back to staring at the night sky.

It felt easier to talk in the darkness after all.

"… I met her mother when I was up. We were both at Lonsdale. Her name was Susan".

He wondered, distantly, when he had last uttered that name.

"We got together almost immediately. She was… She was beautiful and clever and _perfect_... but she was never going to be mine" He said, "I was just too young and naïve to realise that at the time".

"She wanted nothing to do with the child?"

He gave a self-depreciating laugh, "I didn't even know we _had_ a child until she showed up on my doorstep. Susan had… _called things off_, in a manner of speaking, only a few months before. She stopped seeing me, stopped seeing her friends, didn't even attend _class_ in those last few weeks. Now, of course, I know why, but back then… as dramatic as it sounds, it felt like my entire world was falling apart".

Win squeezed his arm comfortingly, "She didn't tell you she was pregnant, then?"

"No" He said smiling sadly, "She didn't tell _anyone_. She hid it for as long as she could, only told her parents when it was unavoidable, and to anyone that asked she simply had a bad flu. No one knew".

"Until she landed at your door with a baby in tow".

"… I was a right mess, and that was before I even _knew_ about Abby. God knows what it must have been like for Susan" He signed heavily, "And then suddenly, there she was. A baby only a few weeks old, not old enough to be taken from its mother by far, but… she said either I took her or she was putting her up for adoption… And I know what it's like, growing up unloved. I couldn't let that happen to her. Not to Abby".

"You did the best you could, Morse".

"Did I? I told her I'd do right by them, said I'd marry her, get a job, anything… _everything_… but she wanted nothing to do with us. So, I took Abby, and I left. I was nineteen, barely old enough to drink, and suddenly I had this tiny _fragile_ little girl I had to protect when I could scarcely fend for myself… Maybe she _would_ have been better off in foster care".

The warm presence at his side suddenly disappeared as he was yanked rather forcibly around to face her.

Win Thursday glared like a torrential downfall.

Abruptly, fiercely, and struck like _ice_ down into your very _bones_.

"_Now you listen to me Morse!_ You did _right_ by that girl. You took her in despite _everything_ being stacked against you and you raised her to be intelligent and kind and considerate. I have _never_ met a more well-behaved or likeable child and I raised two of my own! So don't you _dare_ think for one _minute_ mister that she would've been better off without you, because you are quite possibly the _best_ thing that _ever_ could have happened to her!"

He didn't realise he was crying until she took his face in her hands.

"You're a _wonderful_ man, Morse" She smiled tearily, "And you're an even more wonderful father. _Don't doubt yourself_. And rest assured, if you _ever_ for some strange _unfathomable_ reason decided to do something that _wasn't_ in her best interest? You'd have the entire Thursday army reigning down on you until it was made right… Don't be afraid to ask for help, alright? _You're not alone anymore_".


	10. Ten

**Ten**

"Okay, so, here's what we know" Jakes began, "Three victims; Vickery, Allen, and Bannon; somehow all related. All three were poisoned with different drugs, with Allen being stabbed and buried in a shallow grave afterwards. Bannon was framed to make it look like he killed Allen and then staged up as a suicide, reasons still unknown. Our lead suspect is most likely a middle-aged white English ex-con who knows the area and has a passable knowledge of drugs".

He paused and glanced over at Thursday and Morse who both nodded in agreement.

"Three nights ago, an unknown assailant broke into Morse's flat through the window and left an envelope containing a note with a line from Shakespeare, still unknown, a syringe with an unidentified liquid, and a half-withered white rose. Nothing else was taken and nothing else was left".

"And we're sure it's related to this case?" Thursday asked, and Morse couldn't help but snort, "Well it'd be a great _bloody_ coincidence if it weren't. Any word from CID yet?"

"Speak of the devil, matey".

They all turned as Strange appeared with a file in his hands.

"Another few days before you get the items themselves, I'm afraid, but they've just sent over the preliminary results".

Jakes automatically went to take them, before pausing and glancing back, "You want to-?"

Morse immediately stepped forward and grabbed the pages.

He scanned through them quickly, brow furrowing deeper and deeper before suddenly his eyes widened and he looked up.

"Well?"

"The syringe" He said, "It was full of _morphine_".

"Did they find any fingerprints?" Thursday quickly asked, marching forwards to take the file, but he shook his head, "No. Nothing. Not on the note either. But if it was morphine in that injection..."

"… And we're currently missing an injection that would've contained morphine" Jakes caught on, "Then _this_ was what was used to killed Bannon".

Strange frowned, "What about the other two pieces, then?"

"The note, I'm still not sure" Morse admitted, "I'm cleared to return home tonight, so I can go through the plays then, but it's going to take a while to read through everything".

"And the rose?"

He shook his head and remained silent.

Jakes suddenly stilled.

"Hang on".

Quickly making his way over to his desk, he pulled the battered police notebook from his coat pocket and flicked through it.

"The neighbour" He said, "Allen's neighbour. We went back to question her, remember?"

"Yea, but what has that got to do with-"

"The only reason she said she'd paid the intruder any notice" He ploughed on, "Was because he'd jumped Allen's fence and landed on his roses. _White_ roses".

Thursday frowned, "You think the syringe is from Bannon's murder, and the rose is from Allen's?"

"It makes sense. And it connects the weird break-in to the case" Jakes replied, "The only thing we're missing is a link to Vickery. Which could be what the note is for".

"But Sarah Vickery's death was never staged" Morse countered, "We knew immediately that she'd been killed, but Bannon and Allen were set up to look like a murder-suicide".

"So, what, he covers his tracks and then gets bored? Decides to help us along?"

"Or annoyed that we didn't catch on quicker".

Thursday passed on the file to Jakes who quickly skimmed through it.

"Something's been bothering me about all this envelope malarkey" Strange said, "Why didn't he just send it in the post? Why break in?"

"… To prove that he can" Morse suddenly stated, "He could've killed me that night- _no_, sir, it's the truth. He _could_ have killed me but he _didn't_… He can get to us, at any time, any place, and he wants us to know that. That's why he broke in. That's why he left the envelope behind… We're only allowed to play his game until things stop being interesting".

The abrupt shrill of telephone made them all jump, and he reached out to grab it.

"Morse".

"It's Rigsby. You, uh, you said to ring in case I thought of anything?"

He frowned.

_Rigsby?_He mouthed at Jakes, who snorted and pointed at the image of Bannon on the evidence board.

_Oh _Rigsby_ Rigsby._

"… Sir?"

"Still here, Sean" He quickly answered, awkwardly moving around the phone line to sit at his desk, "What is it?"

"I was just wondering… I mean, you told me it was murder and that you're reinvestigating and such… is there any update?"

"Not yet. But I'll let you know" He promised.

There was an audible pause at the end of the line.

"Anything else?"

"I just… Did that name give you any leads? The one Jake was muttering about the night he called?"

"We thought it did" He admitted, "But it was dead end. Literally".

"Oh. Right. Yea, of course, I mean… It was a long shot anyway…" Rigsby trailed off, "You'll let me know if anything else happens?"

"Of course. As long as you do the same".

"I will! I swear it!" He replied, "In fact, there actually was something, but… oh never mind, it's probably nothing".

"Are you sure?"

"Yea, yea, don't worry about it. Just imagining things, I'd say… but then again-"

The line went dead, and he frowned, pulling back the phone to stare at it quizzingly.

"Everything alright?" Thursday asked.

He hung up and then redialled.

Nothing.

"Must be a fallen telephone pole or something" He mused, "I can try again later. Where were we?"

* * *

It was late. Super late. Later than any night Morse had ever worked before and he was tired and angry and irritated. Shutting _Hamlet_ with a frustrated groan, he turned to his still-to-read pile and couldn't help but think it'd take him a month to go through everything.

He'd been reading for hours, and had so far only gotten through three of Shakespeare's plays, scanning each page line by line for the one he was looking for. He'd started with the most popular, hoping that the killer had done so too, but so far, his search was futile.

Stacking the manuscript on top of _Macbeth_ and _King Lear_, he reached for _Romeo and Juliet_ and couldn't help but snort at the conversation he'd had with Jakes about it, not even a week ago but feeling like it was a lifetime.

Flicking it open he began again.

Fair Verona… star-cross lovers… something about carrying coal… blah blah blah… Montague's a dog, Sampson bites his thumb, the usual.

He ran a hand over his face, before stretching and walking over to the windows, double checking the locks. They were secure, of course, as they had been the last seven times he'd checked, but there was no harm in being cautious.

He'd just sat down again when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Morse! Thank god! It's me".

He frowned, "… Rigsby?"

"Yes, hi, sorry, I called the station and they said you were gone home but I really needed to talk to you so this nice man called Odd or Rare or something gave me this number and said if it was an emergency then you wouldn't mind and you don't mind right cause this is really important and-"

"Rigsby!" He snapped, beyond exhausted and at the end of his rope, "Calm. Down. What's the problem?"

"Right. Yea. Calm. I'm calm. We're all calm. Okay. Well-"

"_Sean_".

"I didn't hang up on your earlier".

"… Okay?"

"When the phone stopped working, that wasn't me, I didn't just hang up. Someone cut the phone line".

"… Someone cut the phone line?"

"I mean, I _think_ they did, or, well, no, I'm almost _positive_ they did and-"

"It was most likely a fallen tree or power outage or something" He interrupted tiredly, "There's no need for alarm".

"But it _wasn't!_"

"Do you have any proof of that?"

"Well… I mean, _no_, but-"

"Rigsby. What's wrong?"

A heavy sigh and then, "… I think I know who killed Jake".

Morse immediately straightened up in his seat, "You _what?_"

"I mean… There's this _guy_, alright? And… And I don't know him _personally_ but he's been acting weird and it's only every around _me_ so I think he's the killer".

All hope began to slowly trickle away.

"A man acting weird doesn't make him a murderer".

"I know! I _know_ that, I _do_, I just… He's been _following_ me".

"This man?"

"Yes, this man! He's been following me but always leaves when I look at him and he makes me feel uneasy because there's just something _weird_ about him".

"What does he look like?"

"I don't know, I can never get close enough to tell" He replied, "But he's short. Shorter than average, and kind of skinny too".

"Hair? Eyes? Skin colour?"

"_I don't_ _know_ I tell you!"

It was clear that the younger man was agitated, but Morse couldn't find it in himself to be sympathetic.

"Rigsby… _Sean_. Look. You've been through a trying ordeal and your nerves are bound to be a little frayed right now-"

"You don't believe me".

He ran a tired hand through his hair.

"… It's not that I don't believe you. I believe that there _is_ a man, and that he may be acting _unusually_… but it's highly unlikely that he's following you. To begin with, he has no reason to-"

"I'm Jake's friend... I _was_ Jake's friend".

"_And?_ Jake Bannon is dead" He shot back, "And his killer is still out there and we still need to find him!"

"But maybe this man is-"

"He doesn't match the description, Rigsby, so stop wasting my time!"

_Okay, maybe that was a little harsh._

"Look… I'm _sorry_, okay?" Morse continued, a little quieter, "I'm sorry about Bannon, and I'm sorry for yelling… But it's only natural that you'd be affected by this. Take a few days, a week, calm down, get your head on straight, and then come back to me. I know you want to be a part of this investigation, and I'm letting you in as far I can, but you're still a civilian, Sean. And there's only so much I can do".

"… Yea, you're right, sorry. I knew that, earlier, but..." He trailed off, "It's just… _hard_, you know?"

"I know" He said, "And it's going to hurt for a long time. But you _will_ get through it, and we _will_ catch your friends' killer, and he'll pay for what he's done. But to _do_ that, I need you to let me do my job".

"And stop calling at all hours of the night?" He asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Morse glanced over at the clock to find it was well past midnight.

"That would be appreciated, yes".

"Alright. Fair enough… But could you-"

He cut himself off.

"Could I-?"

"… I know it's probably all in my head, but this- this _guy_ is hanging about outside a lot and it's really freaking me out so… any chance you could swing round? Maybe check him out?"

"_Tonight?_"

"Or tomorrow! He added quickly, "Just… soon? Please?"

He glanced again at the clock and then at the locked windows, before turning his gaze down the hall to where Abby was sleeping.

"… I know what it's like, feeling scared in your own home" He finally said, "But I can't tonight. In the morning? Say, before eight?"

"Perfect. Thanks, Morse".

"Get some sleep, Sean".

* * *

The next morning came far too soon for his liking, and he almost face planted in his breakfast from yawning so hard. Abby giggled, and he mock glared at her, before pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"Monica's coming over a bit earlier today, okay?"

"What for?"

"I have a… work thing" He explained vaguely, "But I'll be home same time tonight, alright?"

"Alright" She said, almost too happily, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing".

She did an incredible facade of innocence; one he only knew was fake because it was the same one he used himself.

"Does it involve paint?"

"No".

Again, too quick.

"… Is Monica in on this?"

Abby smiled, "I don't know what you're talking about, daddy".

"Uh huh" He said doubtfully, "Just try not to make a mess".

* * *

"Rigsby?" He called, knocking on the front door once more.

There was still no reply.

He'd appeared at the small detached cottage not ten minutes before, and it was a beautiful place just outside the city boundary, inherited from the man's late parents. He'd knocked four times by now, but there was no response, and he frowned as his watch turned eight o'clock. Just before eight, he'd said, and Rigsby had agreed. He would have called if there was a change of plans, but there no communication from him at all.

There was also no sign of a 'weird man' loitering about.

Morse stepped over a collection of shrubs to peer in the window.

The sitting room was empty, as was the dining room.

Walking around the side of the house, he tried the gate only to find locked. Sighing, he firmly pushed all thoughts of Allen's trespasser to the back of his mind as he hoisted himself up and swung a leg over the fence. The back garden was wild and overgrown, and he caught his fair share of briars making his way through it.

"Rigsby?" He tried again, "_Sean?_"

Nothing.

He knocked on the back door.

It opened beneath his touch.

Frowning, he slowly pushed it open.

"Rigsby? It's Morse. I'm coming in, okay?"

The cottage was freezing as he made his through the dark hall, emerging at the other side of the hall. He undid the bolt-lock on the front door, and swung it open wide to let in some light, before cautiously making his way up the old wooden stairs.

He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a sudden urge to call the station, or even just _Jakes_, but he quickly locked those thoughts away for now.

Pushing open each door that he passed, he found the entirety of the upstairs to be empty, and reluctantly made his way back downstairs.

It was possible, after all, that Rigsby had forgotten, or that something else had come up and he hadn't had time to call. Maybe he was out grocery shopping.

The sitting room was just as empty as it had looked from the outside, and the same with the dining room. Which only left… the kitchen?

Making his way back down the hall to a half-hidden door, previously unnoticed, he paused at the strange scent that suddenly hit his nose. Was that… metallic? Rust? It was like iron, only deeper, richer, almost. Almost like…

* * *

Heart hammering in his chest, he slowly reached up and pushed open the kitchen door.

The room was shrouded in half darkness, the sun not having reached it yet and the blinds half-closed, but in the dim light he could make out a figure hunched over the kitchen table.

Morse let out a sigh of relief.

"_God_, Rigsby, don't _do_ that! Why didn't you answer the door?"

There was no reply.

He frowned, taking a step forward, "Rigsby?"

Both the man's hands were propped up on the table, knife and fork enclosed by pale fists.

_Was he having breakfast?_

"Rigsby, why aren't you answering?"

His own hands began to shake.

There was still no response.

Taking a deep breath, Morse slowly rounded the kitchen table to face the man, and pulled open the blinds.

Rigsby wasn't hunched over.

He was sitting up straight.

And there wasn't food in his plate.

* * *

There was only his decapitated head.


	11. Eleven

**Eleven**

Taking a deep breath, Morse slowly rounded the kitchen table to face the man, and pulled open the blinds.

Rigsby wasn't hunched over.

He was sitting up straight.

And there wasn't food in his plate.

There was only his decapitated head.

* * *

It took him an incredibly long minute to actually process what was in front of him, and by the time he did, the smell of rotting flesh and fresh blood had reached him.

He ran.

Bursting out into bright daylight, the front door banging loudly behind him, he managed to stagger towards nearby shrubs before throwing up.

_What the fuck what the fuck what the actual-_

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and promptly gagged again, the image of the beheaded man burned into his mind.

He collapsed back against the porch and ran a hand over his mouth.

Okay.

_Checklist_.

Rigsby was… dead.

Very much so.

And he was first on scene.

* * *

Morse slowly turned to face the open doorway behind him.

The darkness suddenly seemed a lot more insidious than before, long shadows flickering against black walls, sinister and threatening and ominous and-

Okay.

Stumbling to his face, he braced himself, and stepped back into the cold cottage, forcing himself to walk halfway down the hall to where the phone lay on a small table.

He had to dial the number twice thanks to his shaking hands.

"Oxford City Pol-"

"It's me, Strange" He cut off, never before so grateful for a familiar voice.

"Morse? Calling a bit late, aren't you?" He asked, "Taking a sick day?"

"No, no, it's… it's, um… it's-"

The sunlight was slowly beginning to stretch down the hall.

"Matey? You alright?"

His hands were red.

"Morse? Are you still there? Where's the old man?"

He blinked.

"Morse, where are you?"

His hands were red.

"I… I'm… I'm at, um… Rigsby. Sean Rigby, his house it's-"

He couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Stay right there, I'm sending two uniform, alright?"

His gaze ran along his hands, down the table, following the dark stains on old wooden floors to the kitchen door.

"Matey?"

The door handle was covered in blood.

"… Send DeBryn".

He tore out into the sunlight, letting the phone fall as he desperately clawed at his own hands, blood on his palms and fingers and under his nails and if his hands were covered in blood then that meant there was blood on his face and in his hair and-

There wasn't anything left in his stomach to throw up, but that didn't stop his body from trying.

He fell hard on the cold pavement, trembling and horrified and faint and dizzy and oh _god_ there was so much _blood_ why hadn't he realised _why was there_ _so much-_

* * *

He must have passed out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew, DeBryn was kneeling in front of him with smelling salts in his hands.

"There we are" the pathologist said, "Back with us?"

Morse blinked, confused, "Why…?"

"You tell me. I only arrived a minute ago and found you slumped over… With all the blood, I feared the worst".

_The blood._

He immediately looked down at his hands and his world tilted.

"Oh for-"

DeBryn unceremoniously shoved his head between his legs and ordered him to breathe.

"Don't make me slap you, Detective".

He gave a somewhat hysterical laugh.

"Oh please, like you wouldn't enjoy it".

A few seconds later, and he was feeling more solid.

Max gently released him.

"Care to explain what's happened?"

"You haven't been inside?"

"Not yet, but two uniforms arrived soon after me, and they've gone in".

Morse went to brush back his hair and then remembered and quickly lowered his hand once more.

DeBryn sighed.

"Shouldn't you be in there?" He asked, "With the- the body?"

"Not much I can do for the dead. But plenty I can do for the living… I'll stay with you 'til the Inspector arrives".

He slowly nodded.

"I've some brandy in the car, if you care for it".

He nodded more quickly, and DeBryn gave a sad smile before retrieving the small bottle.

"No glasses, but I'm sure you won't mind".

He took a hearty swig and was glad to find his heartbeat slowing.

"And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man" DeBryn quoted, and he gave him a dark look just as a familiar jag pulled around the corner.

* * *

The car had barely come to a stop before Jakes shoved open the door and ran over.

He hadn't paid much attention when Morse wasn't in this morning, assuming that he was just running a bit behind since was picking up Thursday, but then Strange had answered the phone and made wild gestures until he caught his attention and waved him over, just in time to hear the last of the conversation before the line went dead.

One hasty grabbing of car keys, swinging by the guv's house, and a brief explanation later, they had arrived.

* * *

Morse was sitting outside the house, his hands and the front of his white shirt stained red, with DeBryn kneeling before him. As he got closer, he saw the man's death grip around a bottle of brandy, a bloody streak across his cheek and forehead, and red speckles in his hair. His eyes were closed.

He felt his stomach drop.

"Morse?"

Cloudy sky-blue eyes immediately latched onto his, and he let out a sigh of relief. Crouching down, he reached out to take his hand, but found no wound. Frowning, he untucked the man's shirt, uncaring of DeBryn's raised eyebrow at the action, but his skin was pale and smooth.

"How-?"

He took a drink from the brown bottle.

"Not my blood".

Sharply looking up, he saw the pain and anger and- and _guilt?_ that flashed through the younger man's eyes just as Thursday reached them.

"Morse. What the hell happened?"

"It's… It's Sean Rigsby, sir" He replied, "He's dead".

"Bannon's friend?"

"Yes sir".

"Do we know how?"

He gave a dark smirk, "Missing his head may have something to do with it".

Thursday studied him carefully, "… You found him, then?"

"He's in the kitchen… Or, at least, what's left of him".

"Doctor?"

"I haven't been in yet" He replied, "Thought it better to help _viventem_, as it were".

"So the alcohol's purely medicinal, I suppose?" Jakes sniped, not liking how Morse held the bottle close as he stared at something beyond his shoulder.

"Yes, Sergeant, it is. Or would you rather I gave him a _shock blanket?_"

"It'd be healthier".

"And far less effective".

They glared at each other until Thursday cleared his throat.

"I take it you haven't seen the body?"

DeBryn looked away, "The poor sod is there is well beyond help, and the house is too cold to give an accurate time of death anyway".

"It was after midnight".

They turned back to Morse, surprised, but he continued to stare into the distance.

"How do you know?"

"He called me" He said, "Strange gave him the number. He said… He said that he thought he knew who killed Bannon, that there was this man following him, lurking about. I thought it was rubbish, his mind playing tricks on him, and the man didn't fit our killer's description anyway so… so I told him it was probably nothing… He wanted me to come over, but it was late and I was exhausted and I had Abby and… I should have listened. I should have listened and gone over and-"

"-and maybe it'd be you missing your head in there instead of Rigsby" Jakes said firmly, "You couldn't have known that this would happen, Morse. This isn't your fault".

"But if I-"

"If you nothing, Detective" DeBryn interrupted, "What would you have done with Abby? Left her alone? In an apartment that'd been broken into not a week previous?"

It shouldn't have bothered Jakes that the pathologist knew about the break in, but for some reason it did.

"Go home Morse" Thursday said, "This would upset any man. Take the rest of the day, sort yourself out, and I'll see you on Monday".

"Sir-"

"_Now_, Morse".

He slowly nodded and staggered to his feet with a steadying hand from DeBryn when he stumbled.

"Thanks Max".

Jakes bristled.

"I'll run you back".

"Uniform will do that, Sergeant" Thursday corrected, "We need all hand's on deck here".

"But sir-"

He quietened him with a look and could only watch helplessly as Morse skittishly sat into the jag, the bottle of brandy still in his blood covered hands, and a stranger at the wheel.

* * *

He watched the car until it was out of sight, and then waited until DeBryn disappeared to examine the body before turning back to his boss.

"With all due respect, sir, do you _really_ think that was a good decision?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you know how he gets when he's alone. Especially after something like this".

Thursday sighed, "That's what I used to think too, Jakes, but now I know that he has Abigail, and he'd rather _die_ than let anything happen to her. He'll be fine".

"He's after half a bottle of brandy!"

"And he has the rest of the day and the weekend to sort himself out. He needs time to process it all, to cool down and get his head on straight".

Jakes turned back to where the detective had been sitting, noting the bloody handprints and spilled alcohol.

"I trust DeBryn's judgement on this" Thursday said, "He wouldn't let any officer go if there was a problem, and least of all Morse".

"Because they're _best friends?_" He bit out.

"Yes" He replied simply, "Morse will be _fine_, Sergeant, and we've got another murder to solve. Come on".

* * *

The day seemed to pass agonisingly slow, and Jakes found himself counting the hours until he could home and find his own bottle of alcohol to disappear with.

Rigby's kitchen was covered in the man's own blood, but the killer had left no fingerprints or footprints behind, and they came up empty.

No evidence, no murder weapon, no trace.

They couldn't even pinpoint it down to their main suspect, though the dramatic death and the victim's connection to the other bodies technically confirmed it. Four bodies in just as many weeks and they hadn't the slightest idea of who was behind it.

Tossing the keys to his flat up on the kitchen table, he loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket, pouring himself a glass of wine before collapsing heavily in his favourite armchair.

He was exhausted and annoyed and uneasy and he didn't like this one bit.

He glanced at the clock. It was gone eight.

Too late to pay anyone a respectable visit, but he couldn't get the sight of Morse out of his mind, pale and bloody, shirt untucked and hair askew.

_Fragile_.

Jakes sighed.

There was nothing for it then.

He wasn't going to resign himself to fretting for the entire weekend, so tomorrow morning, first thing, he'd swing by and see if everything was okay. Play it off as having to take his statement, if needs be.

But what if DeBryn was there?

He scowled.

He'd always like the pathologist, liked how efficient he was at his job, liked his dark sense of humour, liked how he always said the right thing to make Morse smile.

Jakes wanted to make Morse smile like that.

The doctor was already one step ahead, and if it came down to it, he knew full well who the detective would pick, so maybe he should-

He swore out loud and shook his head.

Getting caught up in thoughts like those wouldn't do anyone any good.

He'd visit Morse tomorrow morning and that would be that.

Downing the rest of the wine, he reluctantly stood and dragged him to his room.

Morning couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

There was no possible way that his alarm was ringing already.

Jakes groaned and rolled over.

It felt like he'd only been asleep for an hour, it couldn't be 7am, it just _couldn't-_

It wasn't.

He stared at him alarm clock and at the flashing 21:32 in front of him.

He _had_ only been asleep for an hour.

The ringing started again.

Damnit.

Kicking off the sheets, he stumbled through the flat, swearing as he hit his foot off the kitchen table while lunging for the phone.

"'ello?"

"Jakes?"

He frowned.

"… Morse?"

"Yea, hi, sorry, it's me".

"You alright?" He asked, leaning back against the counter.

There was a pause.

"Morse?"

"… Are you free right now?"

"Am I- Morse it's almost ten at night, of course I'm free!"

"It's- _oh_. Sorry, I… I didn't realise it was so late. Never mind then, it's fine, I'll just-"

"Look, I'm up now, what do you need?"

"It's alright, it's late and you're-"

"I'm about to get very annoyed unless you tell me why you called!" He glared at the wall opposite, "So what's wrong?"

"… Could you mind Abby for a few hours?"

_What on earth-_

"Now?"

_How the hell-_

"Yea".

_Why would he-_

"Alright".

* * *

Reaching up to knock on the door, Jakes had a million questions racing through his mind.

It swung open and Abigail stood there in bright yellow pyjama's, grinning.

"Mr Peter!"

Grabbing his hand, she dragged the confused sergeant inside.

Morse was standing in the hall looking agitated.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine" He replied curtly, "She's eaten, she's dressed, and she'll be out like a light once the excitement wears off. I'll see you later".

He was at the door before Jakes snapped out of it, and he awkwardly shook off Abby's hold to catch the younger man by the wrist.

"Woah, _hey_, Morse, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just- I need to go out. For a while. I'll be back".

He refused to meet his gaze, eyes flickering about as his body thrummed with nervous energy, and Jakes realised his fists were clenched.

"… Okay" He said at length, letting him go, "We'll be here".

"Thanks".

He grabbed his coat.

And he was gone.

* * *

Staring at the door for a moment, he eventually turned to face the only other occupant of the small apartment.

"… Hello" Jakes said awkwardly, and Abigail giggled, "Hi".

She was clutching a stuffed yellow giraffe, and he recalled DeBryn mentioning that he'd given her one for her birthday.

"You ready to go to sleep yet?"

She shook her head, still grinning, "Nope".

It was going to be a _long_ night.


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

It was gone midnight by the time Abigail fell asleep, and Jakes collapsed on the couch with a groan.

The child was an absolute nightmare.

An incredibly intelligent, cute, and fun little nightmare, sure, but _christ_ was she insane.

After running rings around him for a good hour or so, she finally started getting sleepy, and then it was the battle of the tooth brush and convincing her that she didn't need to wait for Morse to return because, let's face it, Jakes had no idea when that would be himself. She'd finally gotten into bed, only to demand a story, and apparently his rendition of _Island of the Blue Dolphins_ was 'unsatisfactory' and 'not bedtime appropriate'. Making the mistake of asking what, exactly, she considered bedtime appropriate, he was met with a wide grin and the scrabbling off the bed to the bookshelf in the corner, where she had immediately grabbed Twelfth Night and demanded that he finished it for her. He mispronounced more than a few words, not to mind the characters names, and couldn't answer a single one of her questions about it, but finally, _finally_, they came to the end of the play and Abigail fell asleep.

Which led him to now, hands in his trouser pockets, tie loosened, and wondering just how the actual hell Morse managed to do that _every single night._

But at the same time, he couldn't help but grinning.

There was something strangely appealing he found about the entire process, something domestic and heart-warming, and he found himself half wishing that he could do it all again.

After a full night's sleep, of course.

* * *

He was woken by the sound of keys turning in a lock, and slowly sat up with a wince. The apartment door opened and a figure stiffly stepped in, and Jakes frowned, reaching over to flick on the lamp next to him.

Morse stilled, his back still facing him, "... I didn't mean to wake you".

"I was already awake" He lied.

His shoulders were hunched, his entire body tense as if bracing himself for a fight.

As if protecting himself against another fight.

"… Look at me".

Morse remained still for a minute before letting out a heavy breath and slowly turning.

His lip was split, there were bruises already forming on his cheek, and his shirt collar was speckled with blood.

Jakes was immediately on his feet, but he stopped himself from rushing over. Despite being wiry, Morse could pack a seriously good punch, and he knew better than to approach a wounded animal still stuck in fight or flight.

"What happened?" He asked instead.

"I got hit" He replied lamely.

"I can see that. Do I need to have a word with them?"

"You're not my keeper".

"No, I'm not. But you clearly need one".

Morse sighed, his shoulders sagging, and Jakes deemed it safe to approach, cautiously reaching up to catch hold of his chin and turn his head towards the light. There was a smattering of blues and purples already starting to form, leading from the corner of his mouth over a sharp cheekbone which sported another small cut.

"That's one nasty right hook you got given".

"Trust me. It feels worse than its looks".

"I'll say. One swing did all this?"

"He was a big guy. Was wearing a few rings too".

"Hence the blood?"

"Hence the blood".

Jakes released him and ducked to catch his gaze.

"What happened?" He repeated, softer.

"... I was angry" He replied, voice achingly honest "I was _furious_. I needed- needed _something_, some… some sort of release or- or something to numb the pain, for a while, at least".

He was close enough to smell the whiskey on Morse's breath.

"So, what? You decided to find both?"

He gave a half smile, and the cut on his lip reopened.

"To be fair, I was only planning on the latter. I went to a bar, can't remember its name, and I got a drink. And another. And… And maybe one more, after that. But there was this _guy_, sitting in the corner booth with his girlfriend, and he was- he was whispering, _lividly_, at her, about something that wasn't even her fault… I think the price of beer had gone up, or… or something about the food? It doesn't matter. Point is, he was getting angrier and angrier and I could see her shrinking back in fear, like she bracing herself for a punch, and then he slammed his fist on the table and she- she _flinched_ and I just-"

"Intervened" Jakes finished, somewhat dryly.

Blue eyes flashed angrily at him, "Oh, _please!_ Like you'd have done anything different!"

"You're right. I wouldn't have" He agreed easily, "But I _also_ wouldn't have taken him on single-handedly. Especially not given the enormous brute size of him, based on the damage he did with one hit… Was the girlfriend alright?"

"Don't know" He replied with a wry smile, "I was out of it for a good few minutes after. The punch knocked me flat on my ass".

The sudden swearing startled a laugh out of him, but he quickly quietened in fear of waking Abigail.

Morse seemed to have the same thought.

"Is she…?"

"Asleep" Jakes said, still smiling, "Brushed her teeth an' all".

"Thank you".

He waved his hand dismissively, but Morse caught it mid-air.

"I mean it. _Thank you_" He said emphatically, "... I didn't know who else to call. I didn't want to bother any neighbour this late, Abby doesn't know Strange that well, and Thursday would've taken one look at me and tried to talk me down".

"And that would've been a bad thing?" Jakes asked, consciously aware of the warm hand still wrapped around his wrist.

Morse slowly shook his head, "Not exactly… It's just _different_, the way you and he treat me".

"Well I should hope so".

The air between them was too thick for the joke to get a laugh from the younger man.

"Thursday… Thursday only ever sees the best in me. He thinks I'm something vulnerable, irreparable, _innocent_ almost. He doesn't want any blood on my hands, whether I go searching for it or not. You're different. You understand, I think. You know what it's like, to get so wound up you feel like a ticking time bomb about to explode. You saw me tonight, and you knew that I had to find a release, even if it was dangerous, even if it was a bad idea. You _understand_".

Jakes swallowed thickly and licked his suddenly dry lips.

Morse's thunderstorm coloured eyes traced the movement intimately.

He was still holding his hand between them, and Jakes distantly wondered if those burning fingertips could feel his racing pulse.

"There's other ways of finding release, you know" He found himself saying, voice hoarse, "Ways that aren't dangerous".

"But ways that are still a bad idea?" Morse asked softly, gaze still latched on his mouth.

He shrugged, "You're the smart one here, you tell me".

The downpour blue eyes met his evenly.

"... You know, despite being smart, I _am_ renowned for having bad ideas".

He glanced down at where their hands met, and Jakes knew that he could feel the jump of his heart.

"So, what's one more?"

* * *

He wasn't sure who moved first.

* * *

One minute they were dragging out the overused metaphor, and the next, Jakes had one hand around the back of Morse's neck and the other just above his waist, and Morse's own were tangled in his hair, tearing and pulling and tugging as their mouths met in an angry embrace because they fought about everything else _so why not this too?_

Morse won, so Jakes shoved him back, pressing that lithe body up against the door as he scrabbled with shirt buttons and the younger man tried to undo his tie. Yanking at the too-tight collar, he pulled the offending garment off lean shoulders and ran blunt nails down his back. Morse hissed, finally detangling the tie which was dropped unceremoniously on the floor between them. Jakes's shirt soon followed, and he bit the younger man's lower lip in protest, swallowing down the groan he got in response.

"I just had that pressed" He grumbled, "And starched".

"I'll iron it tomorrow morning then" Morse replied, hands gliding down his chest and stopping at his belt.

"You? _Ironing?_ Don't make me laugh" He teased, running his own fingertips over sharp hip bones.

Morse pulled back just enough for him to see his grin, sharp teeth flashing dangerously, and Jakes had the sudden urge to find out what that smile tasted like, _so he did._

They battled each other, naturally, but this time Jakes won, biting and licking his way into Morse's bloody mouth, uncaring of the iron taste or the bruises on his face, and not parting with him until air became a necessity once more.

Panting, Morse's hands stilled on his waist as he tried to catch his breath, his forehead turning to rest heavily on the sergeant's shoulder. A position that Jakes took full advantage of, leaning down to sink his teeth into that pale column of neck he'd wanted to claim as his for months.

"Oh _fuck_" Morse breathed, leaning into the movement and even going so far as to tilt his head to the side for better access, and Jakes swore he felt his heart come to an abrupt stop even as he pulled back and licked gently at the angry red wound.

"You should swear more often" He murmured against broken skin, "I think it quite suits you".

"You mean it fucking suits you, you possessive bastard".

He growled and bit down once again, and Morse actually mewled, legs buckling until only Jakes bruising grip on his hips and the door against his back kept him in place.

"I don't see you complaining".

"Bed. Now. _Or I will be_".

Jakes gladly obliged, pulling back just enough to flick off the kitchen light before grabbing Morse's hands and dragging him towards the bedroom, the younger man laughing as he almost crashed into a bookshelf in his haste.

"_Shh_" Jakes whispered, despite his grin, "We don't want a certain _someone_ waking up, now do we?"

"Oh, we'll have no problem with Abby" He said, fumbling for the door knob, "Once she's out, she's _out_. Heaviest sleeper I know".

"Speaking from experience there, Morse?" He said, still grinning despite the pang of jealousy the casual statement brought.

The younger man finally pushed open the door, dragging him in before shutting it once more and shoving Jakes against it, a parody of their previous position.

"_And if I were?_"

Morse's breath was heavy and warm against his mouth, hands snaking down to rest dangerously low on his back.

"Well then... I'd just have to prove myself worthy I guess" He replied, only half joking.

Morse's grin dimmed into something softer, something sweeter, more _honest_, and he reached up to gently brush back Jakes' hair from where it had fallen over his eyes.

"I don't think you have to worry about that" He said quietly, "You're more than enough for me, for both of us... You being here right now is all the proof I need of your worthiness".

Jakes felt a hot stinging behind his eyes and swallowed thickly, unable to form words. Thankfully, however, Morse didn't seem to expect any, as he reached up to place a chaste kiss against bruised lips before taking his hands and leading him, slowly, _warmly_, towards the bed.

* * *

What followed was a haze of pleasure and pain and plea's. Morse lay beneath him, red hair fanned on the pillow case, looking like a halo in the soft light that seeped in from the street outside. His mouth was open, breathing ragged but quiet as they rocked together. Blue eyes had darkened from the colour of the sky on a fair day to the colour it was during winter, clear and bright but somehow intense, somehow blinding and _brittle_ in its smooth blueness. The usually talkative detective was now strangely silent, and Jakes couldn't help but stare at the curious creature beneath him, the curious, beautiful, _desperate_ creature that locked his arms around his neck and pulled him down into a bruising kiss, drizzling pleasure through his body until he was tingling with it.

Jakes could feel the scratch of faint stubble against his jaw, could count each and every freckle, could taste the mint and whiskey and blood on his lips. Morse moved against him lazily, languidly licking his way into his mouth as if exploring it, nipping and biting and teasing until Jakes was driven half mad by it. It was devastating and exhilarating, this feeling of coming undone, and his grip on sharp hips tightened, shifting that lithe body _just so_ until he got a groan from the younger man. His world was whitening at the edges, he could feel himself getting closer and closer as blunt nails raked down his back and streaked red lines down tanned skin. He growled into that wickedly talented mouth, canting his hips and starting a hard, purposeful grind that had Morse mewling and arching, writhing against him roughly as they both chased release. It was fast and frantic and gentle love nips soon turned into claiming bites until they both finally cried out, Jakes riding through the blissful aftermath until the last bit of tension left his body before collapsing on top of a trembling Morse, uncaring of the mess between them.

He was breathing heavily, panting against his neck, tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin as he shifted minutely until Morse groaned from overstimulation and wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him still. He felt satisfied, sleepy, and based on the light snuffling he could hear he wasn't the only one. Jakes smiled, propping himself up on a shaky elbow to see the passed-out man beneath him. Morse looked peaceful in his sleep, relaxed and strangely young.

Jakes reluctantly detangled himself and collapsed on the bed next to him. He could clean them up later, but for now, he was content to just wrap around his lover protectively and shield him from the rest of the world.


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen**

Morse was somehow, against all odds, a _morning_ person.

And one Abigail Morse, equally surprisingly, was most certainly _not_.

Jakes could hardly believe where he was, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him and a stupid smile on his face. He'd woken up before Morse, the younger man sprawled out on top of him and his own arms wrapped protectively around his waist, and he'd spent an embarrassingly long time just staring at Botticelli curls and sun-kissed freckles.

He'd quickly decided that it was his new favourite thing to do.

And then the man had woke, and Jakes could pinpoint the exact second he realised where he was because his entire body went tense and _oh god what if Morse thought last night was a mistake what if he regretted it what if it escalated too fast for him what if-_

Then he'd slowly relaxed and raised his head just enough to sleepily narrow his eyes at him.

Jakes forced a smile, "Good morning".

Morse blinked, stared, and then groaned loudly and collapsed back down on his chest. He was a few inches shorter, making him the perfect height to tuck his head under his chin, and Jakes revelled in the contact.

"Bet you're regretting all those whiskeys last night, huh?"

"'M regrettin' getting' punched even mor'" He mumbled into his neck, and he couldn't help but laugh in response.

* * *

From there, they had slowly detangled, Morse stumbling around the room to find his clothes, and then searching again for something that would fit Jakes. He'd watched him do it, _sincerely_ appreciating the view, and deemed it a good sign that he hadn't been kicked out yet.

Once dressed, Morse in something casual for once, and Jakes in slightly-too-short trousers and a soft t-shirt, they'd made their way to the door, the younger man pausing with his hand on the door knob.

"Morse?"

He turned back to him, seemed to internally debate something, before suddenly reaching up to kiss him, and then immediately disappeared down the hall.

Jakes had stood there, staring after him in shock like a love-struck teenager, and decided that perhaps it wasn't just a one-night stand after all.

Which led to now, sitting, Morse's table, coffee, stupid smile, the whole shebang.

The man himself was on the chair opposite him, bent over a crossword puzzle at an awkward angle and the cutest look of concentration on his face. At the head of the table, sat Abigail, more asleep than awake, mulishly shovelling spoonful's of porridge into her mouth, pyjama's askew and hair a mess. Morse had gone to get her while Jakes had put the kettle on, and so far, he honestly didn't think Abigail even realised that he was there.

It was domestic, it was quiet, it was _perfect_.

* * *

"I'm finished".

"No, you're not" Morse replied, not even sparing her a glance.

"I am!" Abigail protested, despite her very much half full bowl.

"Five more spoons worth".

"One!"

"Four".

"Two, then".

"Three, and we go to the playground after".

"… _Fine_" She agreed, before eating the three quickest spoonfuls of porridge known to man, pushing back her chair, and half-running half-stumbling back down the hall.

Jakes sat there, bewildered and amused, watching her disappear into the bathroom before turning back.

"_Every. Single. Morning_" Morse explained, finally putting down his crossword, "Regret staying for breakfast yet?"

"Not even remotely" He said, pleased to see the slight flush that danced across the man's cheeks in response.

"Yea, well, she'll wake up soon, and then you'll wish you never said that" He replied, standing up to bring their plates to the sink.

Jakes quickly followed, carrying the cups, "I doubt it. So far, it's probably the cutest thing I've ever seen… After you, of course".

There was a tell-tale blush again, and he grinned, stepping closer until he could brace his hands on the counter on either side of the younger man.

"I quite like you, you know" He admitted softly, "And I like Abigail too".

"She likes you as well".

"But you don't?"

Morse studied him carefully, seeming to think about his answer, and Jakes felt his heart plummet.

He took a step back, "Forget it, I'll just-"

"No, wait, just-"

"Mr Peter?"

They both froze.

Jakes quickly turned around only to find Abigail standing at the kitchen door, dressed in a bright yellow shirt, a pink dress, green tights, and blue shoes.

"Mr Peter?" She repeated, staring at him, surprised.

"Hey kiddo" He slowly replied.

"You're… You're_ here?_ But… But you don't-" She frowned, "… Did you have a sleep over with daddy?"

"… Yes?"

"And you didn't _tell_ me?!" She demanded, "We could have watched a movie or read Hamlet or- or I could have painted your nails and you could've braided my hair and-"

"_Abby_" Morse cut her off, thankfully coming to his rescue, "He wasn't planning on staying over. It was just later than expectant when I got home last night, that's all".

"Oh" She suddenly pouted, "But you'll tell me next time, won't you?"

_If there was even going to be a next time,_ he thought bitterly, but nodded all the same.

"Great!" She brightened, "So you're coming to the park with us, right?"

"I… I don't think that's a good idea" He awkwardly replied, turning to Morse.

To his surprise, however, the man gave a hesitant smile, "She'd like you to come. We _both_ would".

_And wasn't just a three-sixty?_

"Alright" He still found himself replying, "Sure".

* * *

An hour later, and they were sitting on an old wooden bench in the playground, watching Abigail run around with other Saturday morning kids, and two paper-cups of tea in their hands that Morse had insisted he pay for.

"Jakes-"

"You can call me Peter, Morse" He interrupted, "I've been in your bed".

"Not the only thing you've been in" He muttered, and he choked on the tea.

Morse hid a pleased smirk behind his paper-cup and continued.

"_Peter_, then… I need to explain a few things".

"You don't have to-"

"I _want_ to explain, then" He corrected, "Please, just… just shut up and listen, alright?"

"Alright".

"Last night was… Well, it was _something_. I was angry and- and upset and I just… I needed something to help, you know? And you were there".

"So, I was just a one-night stand, then?"

"Didn't I already tell you to shut up?"

They both glared at each other.

Morse took a calming breath.

"You were there, you were willing, and… and yea, I took advantage of that… But that's not the only reason".

"Oh, I feel so honoured".

"I will chuck this tea at your head!"

He wisely remained quiet.

"You asked me if I like you and I couldn't-"

He cut himself off with a ragged breath, and Jakes began to realise how difficult this was for him.

"You have to understand, it's not just _me_ that I have to look out for" He eventually said, "Abby comes first. She always has, and she always will. So no matter _what_ my feelings are, if they cause harm to her in _any_ way… Then that's it. I shove them down and I move on".

"… Permission to speak?"

"Granted".

"I understand" Jakes replied slowly, "I mean, I don't _understand_ understand because, well, I don't have a kid, _obviously_, but… I can see why she's more important".

Lightening his tone, he nudged the younger man playfully.

"But that means you _like_ me, though, right?"

He snorted, "Yea, it does".

"Go on. Say the _words_".

"Jakes-"

"Peter".

"_Peter_" He ground out, "… I like you. A lot. And so does Abby… So much so that it scares me".

"I would never hurt her, you have to know that".

"Not directly, perhaps" He agreed, "But if this… _whatever_ this is between us… if this doesn't work out, then you will. No matter how it ends, no matter who's fault it is, it _will_ upset her".

"You're acting like one of us will _die_, Morse! I'll still be here for you, for _both_ of you, if we ever do break up".

"Yea, well, you say that now, but in a few months down the line when you're sick of tantrums and opera music, _then_ what?"

"… Then aren't a few months of happiness worth more than a couple weeks of sadness?"

Morse sighed and gave a sad smile, turning to lean his head against his shoulder, "… It'd take a lot longer than a couple of weeks for me to get over you, Peter Jakes".

* * *

When Abigail was sufficiently worn out, they began the slow walk back to Morse's flat, the little girl running ahead of them and collecting whatever stones or leaves she found interesting along the way

"Is that why you left last night?" Jakes asked, "Because you were worried what would happen if you stayed?"

He nodded, "Not for the reasons you think, though. It had nothing to do with you, it was- it was for Abby's sake".

He smiled encouragingly as she held up a funny shaped twig for him to see, before turning sombre the second her back turned again.

"I should have listened to Rigby".

"Morse, we've been over this, there's no _way_-"

"-that I could have known what would happen, I _know_" He finished, "But I still shouldn't have brushed him off. Not like that. Not when I, of all _bloody_ people, knows what it's like to have outlandish ideas dismissed".

"And Abigail?"

"… I don't like being around her when I'm mad" He admitted quietly, "I'd _never_ hurt her, never even _consider_ laying a single finger on her… but I wouldn't be able to control my words. And they hurt more than bruises ever do".

He sounded like he was talking from experience, and Jakes unconsciously grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Morse glanced down and smiled.

"My old man was right bastard".

Jakes blinked in shock.

That was _not_ how he imagined this conversation going.

"He loved my mother" He admitted, "And me too, for a while… But he was a mean drunk, and… and he was nearly always drunk".

"_Morse_-"

"_Don't_. You deserve an explanation, at least. See what you're getting into, and all that".

He clenched his jaw to remain silent.

"My mother always put up with it, ignored the yelling and- and the occasional slaps… I wasn't much younger than Abby when he hit me for the first time".

Things suddenly began to click.

"I hid it, at first, told my mother than it was lads in school or- or some teenagers in the village" He said, "But eventually, she realised what was happening. So, she packed up, she took me, and she ran".

Jakes stepped closer, trying to subtly hide the younger man from his past.

"And things were good, _really_ good, with just the two of us" He continued, with a small smile, "She taught me about poetry and literature and the stars… Life was _perfect_… And then, when I was twelve, she died".

"I'm sorry".

"It's alright. I mean, it _wasn't_, back then, but if it _hadn't_ happened, then maybe Abby never would have either. But the problem was, the only person left to take me in… was my father" Morse replied, "By now, he was after remarrying to a woman named Gwen, and they had a daughter together, Joycie… And he hated _everything_ I reminded him of".

He shook himself as if to dispel old thoughts.

"That's why I don't like being with Abby when I'm that angry" He finished, "Because I'd have my father's beatings over Gwen's harsh words any day, and Abby doesn't deserve any of it".

"Is that why…" Jakes paused, unsure how to continue, "Back when we still thought Bannon had offed himself, you said- you said something that made me think… _you know_".

Morse's hand tightened, still held in his own, and he gave a single jerky nod.

"Yea, I, ah… That was the evil step mother's doing" He admitted, "She didn't do anything _special_ against me. It was just the steady accumulation; the drip, drip, _drip_ of humiliations… hatreds, when you're that age".

"Which was-"

"15" He interrupted, "I was 15… So, I suddenly thought, 'Sod this. I'm getting out of this; it's not worth it'".

"You ran away?"

"I decided to kill myself".

Short, blunt, and simple.

It still made Jakes stagger a step.

"I thought of all the ways of doing it, then I put them in order: one, two, three… all the way down to about fifteen; which would hurt me the most; which would hurt dad; which would Gwen. I even thought of which would hurt little Joycie the least. I liked Joyce… Then I thought, 'That's pretty bloody clever what you've done', because I'm vain. I was vain even _then_, and then I thought, 'If you're clever enough to have done all that… well, it's the waste of a good mind'".

"It would have been" He quickly agreed, "And now, too. _Christ_, Morse-"

"It was a long time ago, Peter".

They came to a stop in front of his building, Abby hovering on the steps.

"Soon after, I heard opera for the first time and… and it just _clicked_, you know?" Morse smiled, softly, "It was something worth holding onto, despite the abuse… I did well in school, I got a scholarship to Oxford, and then Abby was born… I may have had nothing to live for back then, but… but I have _everything_ now".

Jakes stared at him, at those world-weary blue eyes and that sensitive face, still surviving, still _thriving_ despite everything he'd gone through.

He was _beautiful_.

* * *

"Daddy! Come on, I'm hungry!"

They both startled, and Jakes quickly took a step back.

"I'll just, uh… I'll just get my clothes, and then get out of your hair" He rambled, "I'm sure you have better things to be doing on a Saturday".

"Not really" Morse replied, "But I'm about to make lunch… Care to join us?"

"Are you sure?"

"Very".

He glanced over at Abby, slightly sun-burnt and grinning, and smiled in response.

"She'd be glad to have you there, you know".

"Alright then" He replied, turning back, "How could I say no to that?"


	14. Fourteen

**Fourteen**

Morse's blissful mood lasted throughout lunchtime with Jak- _Peter_ and followed him as he walked the man to the door and received a shy look and chaste kiss before he left. He'd paused for a minute, fingers ghosting over his own lips, before smiling softly and turning back to the kitchen.

Abby stood in the doorway, grinning.

Morse raised a solitary eyebrow at her.

She giggled.

He narrowed his eyes, "How much of that did you see?"

"Only some" She teased, "Daddy and Mr Peter sitting in a tree-"

He suddenly leapt forward and picked her up to swing her around, "Alright that's enough out of you!"

"Daddy _stop!_"

"Not until you apologise" He grinned, transferring his grip from her arms to her ankles so he could hold her upside down.

"Stop!" She laughed, blood rushing to the head, but he remained adamant, "Not until you apologise!"

"I-_ Fine!_ I'm sorry!"

He carefully put her down but she grabbed his shirt so he fell too. They lay in a giggling pile on the kitchen floor, and Morse suddenly realised that he'd never been happier.

"I like Mr Peter" Abby said softly, brushing her hair back from her face.

"He likes you too".

"And you!"

Morse smiled, "… Yea. I guess he does".

* * *

His happiness continued past dinner, and he even read an extra act of _Hamlet_ at Abby's request. He went to sleep in a bed that smelt faintly of Jakes and grinned into the pillow. Sunday morning, he made pancakes for breakfast and they went back to the park for the day afterwards. He knew he was behaving weirdly, because constant smiling was weird behaviour for him, but he didn't care. He was happy and Abby was happy and apparently, Jakes was too. Even pouring over Shakespeare's plays to find one tiny little line couldn't dampen his spirit. Sunday night came and went, and then Monday morning he was woken before his alarm by Monica calling to tell him she was pulled into work on an emergency and couldn't look after Abby today.

So no Monica.

And Mrs Laskey was still in hospital.

And he had work and a five-year staring up at his expectantly.

_Goodbye, good mood._

* * *

"Thursday residence!"

"Joan?"

"Morse?"

"Yea, hi, good morning" He replied, and she laughed, "Good morning to you too. Aren't you meant to be picking up dad in like ten minutes?"

"Pe- _Jakes_' day" He explained, almost slipping, "Listen, I hate to ask but… do you have work today?"

"Has something happened?"

"No! Or, well, I mean, _yes_, but- nothing bad" He finally settled on, "My usual sitter was called into work though, and…"

"And you wanted to know if I could mind Abigail for the day?"

He winced, "I really _really_ wouldn't be asking if there anyone else".

"It's no problem, Morse, I'd love to, except I do, actually, have work".

"Oh… Is Mrs Thursday home?"

"Mum's gone to visit her sister this week"

He could hear the silent apology in her voice.

"That's… That's okay. Alright. I'll just-" He ran a hand through his hair, "… How does your dad feel about fake sick days?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"What? No, Joan, don't you _dare-_"

"Morse?"

He face palmed.

"... Morse?"

"Good morning, sir".

"Joanie said there was a problem? Are you alright?"

He winced, "Fine, sir, I just… Abby has no babysitter for today".

"At all?"

"None".

"I see… Can she keep quiet?"

He sorted, "Better than I can".

"And that's saying something…" He muttered, "Alright. Bring her in".

Morse blinked and straightened up, "Sir?"

"Bring her in" Thursday repeated, "To the station, just for today. Get a few colouring books or dolls or whatever it is little girls are into today, and she can stay at your desk".

"… Are you-"

"Yes, Morse, I'm sure" He interrupted fondly, "Now get a move on. Jakes is already here".

* * *

Bringing Abby through the station was an event in its own right. Those few officers that had been on duty the first time she'd been here had quickly spread word that he had a kid, but Morse knew the majority of the station still didn't believe it. Now, though, with a bright yellow backpack in one hand and a toddler in the other, it was hard to deny the truth.

He ignored their whispering and blatant looks of disbelief, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Jakes already sitting at his desk.

"Mr Peter!" Abby exclaimed, rushing over, and he grinned and picked her up to sit on her lap.

Not only did Morse have a daughter, but Peter Jakes was capable of grinning.

The rumour mill would be going wild.

"Hey kiddo" He greeted, "You working with us today?"

"'m not _working!_"

"Well, why ever not? I know for a _fact_ that you're one of the smartest people in this room. Probably give Uniform a run for their money, too, I'd say".

"Careful or she'll get a bigger ego than I have" Morse said sardonically, putting her bag next to her chair, "Thursday tell you?"

"No sitter and the missus in London" He confirmed, "A kid could do worse than a police station".

"Just don't show her any dead bodies, alright?"

"Says the man who reads her Shakespearean tragedies every night".

"Those are educational!"

"So is pathology!"

_God he wanted to kiss that stupid grin off that stupid face._

* * *

"If you're both quite done?"

They both jumped and turned only to find Thursday standing at his office door, raised eyebrows barely hiding his fond expression.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir" Jakes immediately said, his perfectly stoic image ruined by the grinning child still sitting on his lap.

Abby poked his cheek and a smirk slipped through his serious expression.

Thursday sighed, "Why do I even bother… Right. Morse, please collect your daughter. Jakes, what's the situation with CID?"

Morse quickly picked up Abby with a not-so-subtle smile and deposited her in his own chair, putting the bag on her lap and quietly telling her to get out a few crosswords and to stay quiet.

"We should have the contents of the envelope tomorrow, sir" He said, standing and going over to the evidence board where the photos of the note were pinned, "But we still don't know where that line is from, unless…"

He turned but Morse shook his head, "Not yet. I'm down to the last four plays, though, so hopefully I should come across it by tomorrow".

"And we're still at a loss for leads?"

"Unfortunately, sir".

Thursday frowned, "If we could just figure out his motive, or how he chooses his victims…"

"Max still can't find a relation on his end" Morse added, "Even with- with Rigsby".

He swallowed thickly and quickly blinked those images from his mind.

Thursday turned to Jakes instead, "Do we have autopsy results for him yet?"

"Well, cause of death was pretty obvious" He snarked, "But yea, the preliminaries are back. No foul play, asides from the obvious".

"He wasn't drugged like the others?" Morse frowned, and Peter shook his head.

He turned back to the evidence board, frown very much still in place.

"Morse?"

"I just-" He stopped, "… Drugging was his _calling card_, as such. The previous three victims were all poisoned, despite what happened to them afterwards. Why change that routine now?"

"Maybe the drugs _aren't_ his signature move" Jakes suggested, "Maybe it's whatever the hell this note means".

"But we know what that means!" He shot back, "It's Shakespeare. _All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!_ We know it's from a play, we just don't know who says it".

"That's 'Lizabeth".

They stilled.

Morse slowly turned to face his daughter, "… That's what?"

She shifted on the seat, flushing under all their stares.

"'Lizabeth" She repeated, "The keen. She- She says that when Clarence dies, doesn't she?"

"When Clarence dies…"

His eyes suddenly lit up.

"When Clarence dies!"

"Morse?" Thursday asked, confused, but he ignored him, instead rushing over to kiss Abby on the forehead, "You absolute _genius!_ Stay there!"

Grabbing his coat, he ran for the door.

"_Morse!_"

"I'll be right back!" He called, before disappearing in a gust of wind and madness.

* * *

The sudden silence was deafening.

All eyes slowly turned back to Abigail who looked somewhat scared.

"Abigail?" Thursday asked, "What did you mean by 'when Clarence dies'?"

She ducked her head and remained silent, a look no doubt garnered from her father.

Jakes walked over and crouched down next to her, "Hey kiddo".

"Mr Peter" She said quietly.

He smiled and took her hands in his own, "Can you explain it to us? Before your daddy comes back?"

"It's… It's 'Lizabeth" She whispered, "The- The keen. That's her line".

He frowned, confused, "The keen?"

"… The queen" Thursday suddenly realised, "Queen Elizabeth".

She nodded, "She says that when Clarence dies".

"But who's Clarence?"

She looked at Jakes like he was stupid, "Her brother!"

He blinked.

"Okay, kid, I need you to break this down for me. What play are they in?"

Her nose scrunched up, "… Can't remember".

"But it's Shakespeare? William Shakespeare?"

"Of _course_ it is!" She said, offended, "We read it two plays ago! Before the cross dressing girl and the- the mean Scottish lady".

A nearby constable snorted, "_Jesus Christ_ there's two of them".

Thursday gave him a dark look so Jakes could stay focused on Abby.

"I'm going to hazard a guess and say _Twelfth Night_ and _Macbeth_?"

"Yea! Those!" She grinned, "But this one had a _person_ name, I think. I don't know. Daddy'll know though!"

* * *

"_RICHARD III!_"

They all startled and Jakes almost fell over in shock as Morse burst back through the door, coat flapping behind him and cheeks red and wild curls wind swept and positively _delectable_ looking and-

He quickly shook his head.

This was neither the time nor place.

Thursday recovered first.

"Richard what?"

"Richard III" He repeated breathlessly, quickly walking over and putting a battered looking manuscript on the table in front of them, "That's… That's where the… the line is from".

Jakes stared at him, "… Did you just run the twenty-minute-round trip to your flat in less than five?"

He opened his mouth to answer before suddenly groaning and doubling over, "_Stitch_".

"Guess that answers that, then" He muttered, "You do know we have this wonderful new invention called cars, right?"

He gave him a dirty look, still panting heavily, and tapped the top of the play.

Thursday got the memo and flipped through it.

"It's near the start" Abigail added helpfully, "It's Eddie's last scene".

"Eddie-?"

"Edward" Morse corrected, finally straightening up, "King Edward, to be more precise. Richard's brother".

"And this Clarence fellow, he's Queen Elizabeth's brother?"

"Brother-in-law".

Jakes turned to Abigail.

She shrugged.

"Same thing".

Thursday finally found the correct scene and quickly skimmed through it, "_All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!_ Here it is. Queen Elizabeth".

"So, what does this actually mean?" Jakes asked, "There's been no Elizabeth's in the case".

"No" Morse agreed, a strange gleam in his eye, "But there has been a Roger Clancy Allen".

"Clancy. Clarence".

"Exactly" He said, "And guess how dear old Clarence was killed?"

Thursday stood there in half disbelief and half disgust, "Our guy killed him the same way as this character?"

"Stabbed, drowned in wine, and buried in a shallow grave" He confirmed, picking up the play and walking back to the board, "And- Look! Sarah Anne Vickery. Lady Anne. Tricked into a relationship with Richard before he poisoned her".

Quickly flicking through the victim's files, his sense of unease began to grow.

"Jake Edward Bannon. King Edward. Poisoned, but made to look like suicide over the guilt of killing Clarence".

And another.

"Sean William Rigsby. Lord Hastings. Lord _William_ Hastings. A close friend of King Edward's and beheaded for finding out the truth about Richard".

He stopped.

"This… This play is how he's selecting them" Morse said, looking up, "… _This_ is how he's choosing his victims".

* * *

There was a stagnant pause before the station burst into activity.

"Get me Superintendent Bright! Thursday snapped at a nearby constable, while Jakes rushed to the main desk to find Strange and Uniform started making calls and running about with paperwork.

Morse stood in the middle of the chaos with the manuscript in his hands and looking somewhat lost.

"Are you sure?"

He blinked and turned to Thursday.

"… I'm sure".

He slowly nodded, "So if he's based his previous killings on this play, is it fair to say he'll stick to the script?"

"Positive" He replied, "I mean, it's- it's slightly out of order. We haven't had an Elizabeth or- or a few others yet but… but yea. I'm sure".

Jakes returned with the Sarge in tow.

"So everything fits?"

"As much as it can".

Strange frowned, "Can we use it to predict who he'll go for next?"

"Yes" Morse said simply, "… But you're not going to like it".

"I haven't liked _any_ of this, matey. Who do I need to get the word to?"

He glanced over at Abby who was still happily doing her crosswords in the corner, and then looked back down at the innocent text in his hands.

"Morse?"

"… The two princes in the tower".

Both he and Jakes frowned, confused, but Thursday swore.

Loudly.

"Sir?"

"The two what?"

"The two princes in the tower" He explained, "They- Look, it'd take too long to explain the entire story but- _the point is_, they were in Richard's way, so he locked them up. And when that didn't work…"

"He killed them" Jakes finished, "So, who are we looking for? Two males aged, what? Mid-twenties?"

"Children" Thursday corrected, "I may not remember much from school, but details like that stay with a man… They were _children_".

Jakes paled and Strange's jaw tensed.

"How old?"

"If he's sticking to the script… Nine and twelve. Brothers".

"_Christ_…"

"I'll send out an APB" Strange said, subdued, "Get a bulletin for any kidnapping cases that fit our bill".

Morse nodded but found his gaze drifting back to Abby.

* * *

_God_ he couldn't even imagine someone taking her from him, and _definitely_ not by a psychopath like the one they were currently dealing with. The chances of finding a case that suited the play were slim, and even then, if they didn't act fast enough, if he was too slow…

The Snow Maiden suddenly flashed through his mind, unbidden.

Debbie Snow.

Not much older than Abby was now.

And they'd only saved her in the nick of time.

* * *

"Morse!"

He startled and turned to find that the room was suddenly deserted, with only Abby sitting at his desk and Peter standing in front of him with a worried frown on his face.

"You alright?"

"Yea" He replied automatically, "I mean, _no_, but… well, who could be, considering?"

"We'll save them" He reassured, "_You'll_ save them. You're the smartest guy here, after all".

"Not Abby?" He couldn't help but tease, and Jakes rolled his eyes, "I said _guy_, Morse, not _person_. She'd out-beat you for sure".

"Maybe we should put her on the case".

"We can always ask".

"What, you mean ask Bright?"

"Why not? She did figure out where the line was from".

"Oh, of course. I'll just go over and knock on the door and say 'Sorry to interrupt sir, but I was wondering if my five-year-old could be put on this quadruple homicide since she outsmarted literally everyone else in this room'. That'd go down well".

"Well, you won't know unless you try".

He stared at him in disbelief for an entire minute before snorting, and Peter smiled, "There we go. Life isn't so bad, huh?"

"Can you imagine it though?"

"_Yes_. That's what scares me" He replied sagely, "I'm telling you, another twenty years and she'll be England's first female prime minister".

"God save us all".

But his dark thoughts had dissipated and he only had the man in front of him to thank.

"Come one" Peter said, softer this time, "Let's see what else this play can tell us".


	15. Fifteen

**Fifteen**

"We're looking for two boys, brothers, approximately nine and twelve years of age, kidnapped in the last week or so. Any cases?"

"Still none" Jakes replied quietly, and Bright swore under his breath, "And we're sure that's who we're looking for?"

"If he's sticking to the script, then yes" Morse said, "He may have rearranged things to suit him before, but he's still very much following the plot of _Richard III_".

"And we have no leads on who 'he' is, either?"

"Nothing since our last suspect was ruled out. We have a list that we're still working through, but… it's going to take some time".

He slowly nodded, "Excluding the two boys, who's left to die in this play of his?"

"Not many" Morse began, nodding towards the evidence board, "So far, we've had Lady Anne, Clarence, King Edward, and Lord Hastings. That leaves Queen Elizabeth to be indisposed, the Duke of Buckingham to be hanged, and the two princes to be killed, method unknown".

"There's been no bodies that matched this Elizabeth or Buckingham?"

"Not yet, at least".

Bright sighed, "Alright… Assuming, of course, that he does manage to kidnap these boys, what would happen next?"

"Well, Richard, in the play at least, kept them in the Tower of London, sir" He explained, "Edward V, King of England and Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York, were their official titles. They were the only surviving sons of King Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville at the time, and Prince Edward was heir to the throne after his father's death. Or, rather, after Richard murdered him. He locked them up so he could become king but quickly realised it wasn't enough. It was five weeks after the killings started, before he hired James Tyrell to kill them".

"Five weeks? But the girls murder, Vickery's, that was-"

"Four weeks ago" Morse confirmed, "Which means if he does have the boys… They're not going to survive the next five days".

* * *

"… What's the point?" Jakes asked suddenly.

Thursday frowned, "Of what?"

"Of this" He said, gesturing widely, "Of all of this. Our killer chose _Richard III_ for a reason. Why did the killings begin in the first place?"

Morse shrugged, "Revenge".

"On?"

"Life in general, really" He replied, "Richard was supposedly deformed, both physically and emotionally. People looked at him and saw a monster, something to be feared, someone that couldn't be trusted… He wanted revenge on them, on the royal family, on the citizens, on England itself for how they treated him".

"So what's the big finale?"

"Richard dies. Gets killed fighting invaders who want to restore England to its originally glory. The country is almost… personified, I guess? It's the reason everything went bad for Richard, why his life turned out the way it did".

Thursday hummed thoughtfully, "So, you could say, that to our killer, 'England' is the one he's after? His final masterpiece?"

Morse frowned, "In theory… Yes. It'd make sense, give us a motive, a grand finale as such, the final death in this five-act tragedy… Except none of our victims were connected. Not like they were in the play".

"Or there _is_ a connection" Jakes countered, lighting another cigarette, "And we just haven't found it yet".

* * *

The sound of the door opening dissuaded all further thoughts on the matter, and Morse gave a small smile as Strange stepped in.

"Good news, matey" He announced, holding up a small plastic bag, "CID have just sent over your Shakespeare note".

Quickly walking over, as fast as he could while still being respectable, he took the bag and nearly ripped it in his haste to get it open.

The unfamiliar script stared back up at him, _All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!,_ but he ignored that in favour of finally _finally_ turning the small piece of paper over.

He frowned.

Thursday took a step forwards, "What does it say?"

"… _G of Edward's heirs, the murderer shall be_" He recited.

"G of what?"

"It's- It's another reference" He explained haltingly, "To the play. This... This line is what sparks Richard in acting. His official title, you see, was the Duke of Gloucester".

"G for Gloucester" Peter realised, "Gloucester is Richard, and Richard kills the king's sons".

"Exactly. Only, King Edward didn't put two and two together. He thought it meant someone else, and by the time he realised, it was too late".

"So… That's it?" He asked, "Just another reference to the play?"

Morse slowly walked over to the front of his desk and leant against it, still frowning at the words in front of him.

"That's _not_ it, is it?" Thursday guessed, recognising that look, "You think there's something more?"

"… I think it's a signature" He admitted, looking back up, "I mean, that was it's purpose in the play and… well, quite frankly, we shouldn't _need_ another hint. The first line gave it away, and if the killer didn't think we'd have figured it out by _now_, then I doubt he'd continue playing this game".

"… A signature?" He confirmed, and Morse nodded, "_G_. That's our man".

"Right" He announced, "Get out that suspects list, and go through it name by name until you find someone who fits the bill. Jakes, you too. I'll go and inform Bright".

It didn't take them long to go through the list when they knew what they were looking for, and thankfully, the resulting possible suspects were narrowed down to just two.

"You do one and I do the other?" Peter suggested, and Morse nodded, "Report back in five".

* * *

Five minutes later, and both men reconvened by the evidence board with a hopeful looking Thursday facing them.

"Well" Peter began, "I hope you have some good news for me, because my guy currently lives in _Wales_".

Morse shook his head, "My guys from Birmingham".

"A bit of a distance, I'll give you that, but not impossible".

"And he has a solid alibi for three of the murders".

"Ah. Not so possible then".

He swore and ran a hand threw his hair, "… We're missing something".

"We're missing a lot of things, Morse".

"No, no, I mean-" He took a deep breath and stared at the pictures and sticky notes in front of him, "… What if we're just not asking the right questions?"

Thursday frowned, "How do you mean?"

"Well… We're focusing on finding the killer, obviously. Who he is, why he's doing this, how he chooses his victims… But why is he doing it all _here?_"

"As in, why Oxford?"

"Why not London? Larger victim pool, less likely to get caught, and a lot easier to hide in than here".

"… What if our missing connection is the reason?" He asked suddenly, and they both glanced over at him, but Jakes kept his eyes on Morse.

"What if our missing connection isn't someone that ties our victim's murders together?" He continued slowly, a gnawing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, "… What if it's someone that's _solving_ the victim's murders?"

Thursday immediately straightened up just as Morse suddenly turned on his heel and began pacing.

"No. No way. Not a chance".

"You said it yourself only a few days ago, Morse" He continued, "Not many people would realise it's based on Shakespeare".

"That's- That's _nothing!_" He exclaimed, "_Anyone_ could have, given enough time!"

"But we don't have time! Those two kids are going to be killed by the end of the week and we don't even know who they are yet!"

Thursday took a deep breath, "Jakes… We can't know for certain that-"

"Oh, _bullshit!_" He snapped, "I'm sorry, sir, but you know _damn_ well that I'm making a valid point. How many coppers here have even heard of _Richard III?!_ And don't you think that the envelope was left in his apartment for a reason?"

"Yea! To show us that he _could_ break in!" Morse shot back, but the older man shook his head, "If he wanted to do _that_, he could have chosen my flat. It's closer to the ground for one, and there's just me in it".

"Maybe having two people just added to the thrill!"

"If he wanted a thrill, then why not choose the guv's place? I'd say three adults would be a bit more adrenaline spiking than just one with a kid".

Morse slowly came to a stop, "… He isn't fixated on me. He can't be, he just- he wanted to show us what he could do".

Jakes voice softened at the man's blatant denial, "_No_, Morse… He wanted to show us who his England is".

* * *

Thursday refused to let the fear he felt show on his face.

"If this is true- and I'm not saying that it is, just that it's a possibility -then we need to find our killer, and _fast_".

"At least we can rule out the others on our suspect list" Jakes agreed, "Now the only question that remains, is just who the _hell_ did you piss off enough for this to happen?"

Morse slowly shook his head, "I- I don't know, I don't-"

"You said our guy is most likely ex-con, someone who'd been put away for a while" Thursday suggested calmly, "Is there anyone in particular who'd hold a grunge? From your time in Carshall-Newton, perhaps?"

"No one that I can think of".

Jakes frowned, "What about your first few cases here? Any threats? This-isn't-the-end type monologues?"

"I-"

He stopped.

_You think it's the end? This is where it starts!_

Tall. Fair hair. Dark eyes.

_We bear the same burden. Intelligence._

"It couldn't be…" He whispered.

_To be clever is to be alone. Forever. I see it in you._

"Morse?"

He suddenly turned to the evidence board, seeing it a brand new light. The Shakespeare references that only he would get, the connections between victims that only he could see, the fact that Richard's message was left in his flat, _I know who you couldn't save Morse- _

"Morse!"

He slowly turned back only to see Jakes and Thursday staring at him, clearly worried.

"It's... It's him".

"_Who?!_"

"... Mason Gull".

* * *

The room became painfully silent for a moment, before Peter shook his head.

"It couldn't' be. He was- He was tried, sentenced. He was sent to prison for _life!_"

"What if he got out?"

"Then we'd be the first to know" He insisted, "Chain of command dictates that all those involved in a case are informed the minute a prisoner escape".

"But what if the prison itself doesn't know that he's escaped?!"

"I think they'd notice a missing inmate, Morse" Jakes replied wryly, but Thursday felt a sense of growing unease.

"… I'll contact the Warden. It'd do no harm to confirm it either way".

Morse nodded once, grateful, and forced his hands to remain steady as he pinned the note on the board between them. Thursday gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before returning to his office to make the call.

"… You don't really think it's him, do you?" Peter asked.

"I think he's the only person in this entire world that I hurt enough to make do this" Morse replied, firmly keeping his gaze on the pictures in front of him.

"That sounds like you're blaming yourself. Like it's your fault".

"… Isn't it?"

A second later, and he was forcibly spun around to face the older man.

Peter looked livid.

"No, it bloody well is _not!_" He snapped, "Morse, I don't care if this is Gull, another psychopath you put away, or a complete stranger. _You didn't kill those people_".

"You said it yourself, Jakes. I'm his England".

"And England wins!" He shot back, "You can't control how other people react to you, no matter who you are or what you do. If this is Gull, and if he's only doing it to get revenge… then that's on him. _Not you._ Alright?"

"I-"

"_Alright?_"

He couldn't help but give a small smile, "... Alright".

"Good" He finished, both hands still warming his upper arms, almost as warming as the look in his eyes, "As long as you know".

* * *

The sound of the office door opening made them both startle and take a step back, but thankfully Thursday looked too preoccupied to notice.

Morse held his breath, "Sir?"

"… About two months ago, there was a fire".

He felt his knees buckle and quickly leant back against the counter to stay upright.

"Three inmates perished, and Mason Gull was among them".

Jakes frowned, "But… But that's good, right? That means he dead?"

Thursday ran a tired hand over his eyes, "The other two bodies were identifiable, despite their burns… Gull's wasn't".

Morse felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs.

"He's still alive" He heard himself saying, his voice holding a notable tremor, "The body was a fake and no one questioned it because two others died as well but he's alive and he escaped".

"Morse-"

"And I'm his England" He continued, "I'm his- his- his grand finale, his master piece".

"We don't know that. Not yet".

He slowly shook his head, "But I _do_… And I also know that he won't stop until he's gotten his revenge".


	16. Sixteen

**Sixteen**

The station was immediately put on red alert.

They'd underestimated Gull once before, after all, and they were adamant not to make the same mistake again. Thursday had wanted to put Morse under house arrest, of course, but as the young detective not-so-helpfully pointed out, Gull had already broken into his apartment once before, so what was stopping him from doing it again? That had led to yet another argument about guard duty and posting Uniform at his door, but this was just as quickly shot down with the excuse of wasting otherwise needed police officers and scaring Abby.

It was that last point that finally caused the guvnor to give in.

That, and the fact asides from himself and Morse, no one else in the station had ever even heard of _Richard III _before.

Descriptions of Gull were sent to every police station, post office, and shop window in a twenty-five-mile radius, and all off-duty detectives were called back in.

They knew who he was, they knew what he was doing, and they knew what was going to happen next.

Now they just had to catch him.

* * *

The report of two missing boys came in at 08:06 the next morning.

* * *

"Eddie and Richie Ridley, eight and eleven years old, last seen by a neighbour as they walked home from school six days ago" Jakes pinned a picture of the two grinning boys up on the evidence board, "No suspects".

"Until now" Morse muttered, standing to get a closer look, "Who's on the case?"

"Mother called it in by dinner time the day they went missing, and it was assigned to Cumnor Police Station. They're closer".

"The school?"

"They go to Saint James', just outside the city".

He couldn't help but snort.

"Of course they do".

Peter glanced over at him and frowned.

"Richard didn't kill the boys himself" He explained, "He hired someone else to do it, and that _someone_ was Sir James".

"… Christ, this lunatic has a twisted sense of humour".

Morse gave a lifeless smile, "Was the school contacted?"

"The principle and both of the boy's teachers were questioned, but they all said it was just a normal day. The kids left at the same time, and nothing was unusual".

They both turned as Bright emerged from his office, face grim.

"Thursday just filled me in. You think this is them?"

"Eddie and Richie being Prince Edward and Prince Richard? Gee, I wonder" He muttered sarcastically, but a dig in the ribs from Peter wiped the smirk off his face.

"Yes sir" He said, louder, "Their ages are a year off, but the similarities asides from that are too great to ignore. They're the two princes in the tower, I'm sure of it".

"What now?"

"Now" He replied, "We've got three and a half days before Gull kills them".

That immediately put a damper on things.

Jakes cleared his throat.

"We should go and interview the parents" He said, "Now that we know who has the two kids, we can ask them better questions than the boys at Cumnor did. Might get us somewhere".

"Agreed" Bright readily said, "Take Morse with you. Who knows, you might realise something along the way".

* * *

The care ride to the Ridley's house was painfully silent.

Jakes kept glancing over at Morse in the passenger seat, his head leaning against the glass as he watched the dreaming spires of oxford pass by.

"Nurse Hicks back on nights?"

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

"She's still minding Abigail, right? While what's-her-name is in hospital?"

"Mrs Laskey" He supplied, "She'll be coming home soon".

"Still, a broken leg will take another few weeks to heal, especially at her age".

There was an awkward pause and Jakes mentally cringed.

"… Abby misses her".

He blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Mrs Laskey" Morse clarified, finally turning to face him, "She's like a grandmother to her, been working for us since we came to Oxford".

"I didn't realise they were so close. I _hated_ babysitters as a kid".

He gave a faint smile, "Yea, well, with the hours I keep… Mrs Laskey is stable, you know? Like a fixed point in Abby's life. She never knew her mother, and Mrs Laskey is the closest thing she has to one".

"A woman's touch, I suppose".

He snorted, "Something like that. God knows I've got the hair and clothes down, after five years of practice but… I don't know. She needs a female role model as well, I guess".

"So, what you're saying, is that I _don't_ need to put on a wig and a dress next time I come over?"

He received a burst of laughter for that, and couldn't help but smile in return.

Until Morse gave just as clever a response, of course.

"Not unless you want to".

* * *

Questioning the Ridley's proved futile.

Personally, Morse never thought for one minute that it would help, but Peter had been so sure…

Anyway, it was time for his own style of detective work.

Walking back down the garden path, leaving two teary and heartbroken parents behind them, he held out his hands for the keys.

Peter frowned.

"You drove here" He shrugged, "I should drive back".

"… Alright".

Started the engine, he waited until they were back on the main road before speaking.

"Mind if we take some detours?"

Peter glanced over at him suspiciously.

"What sort of detours?"

"Ones that might 'help us realise something', in Bright's own words" He replied, "Or, you know, help us find the missing boys".

"You think they're being kept in Oxford?"

"I'm sure of it" He corrected, "It's just a case of where…"

"Well, we know Gull's got a thing for dark humour, so either they'll be right under our nose, or they're being kept in some place with an ironic name, like the school".

He nodded, considering, as they turned back onto busy Oxford streets, reading every street sign and church name as they passed.

"This is how I found the Snow Maiden" Morse suddenly said, "Back when we first met Gull".

"The Snow Maiden… That was that little girl, right? Debra? Denise?"

"Debbie".

"_Debbie_. That's it… So, what, you just drove around aimlessly?"

"More or less" He agreed, turning onto a less busy street, "The clue he left used Bocardo syllogism, and that was the key. And the Martyrs' memorial on the Broad used to be Bocardo Prison".

"And what's that when it's at home?"

He smirked, "St Michael's at the North Gate".

"Church tower" He remembered, "That's where we found her… And all because you fancied a drive".

He flushed and kept his eyes on the road.

"So, maybe, if I see it, I'll know. It's worth a shot, at any rate".

"Any ideas?"

He winced, "Yea. _Too_ many".

Peter rolled his eyes, "You and that big head of yours… List them for me. Most likely first".

"Well… if he's sticking to the play, which we have to presume he _is_, then he'd lock up the brothers where the princes were kept".

"But that was in the Tower of London".

"Exactly. But he can't remove them from Oxford, or we'll no longer be working on the case. He doesn't have enough time or resources to do it anyway, not to mind the hassle of smuggling two children into such a popular tourist attraction".

"So, he needs somewhere similar to that, but still accessible and relatively quiet".

Morse nodded, "We don't have a Tower of London here, _obviously_, and I can't think of any London-related buildings either. So that leaves us with it being a tower".

"Of which there are approximately two million or so in Oxford".

He gave him a dry look and Peter smirked, "Alright. Maybe less… Any Tower in particular that you fancy?"

"None that immediately come to mind" He muttered, carefully turning a sharp bend, "But if it's not play related, then it has to be real life related".

"Thursday mentioned it being based on a true story".

"It's… a little more complicated than that".

"With you involved, it'd have to be".

"And just for that, I'm not going to tell you anymore".

* * *

It was less than five minutes later when he eventually gave in.

"The real Prince Edward and Richard were kept in the Tower of London for their own protection" Morse explained, "Or so Uncle Richard said. But their bodies were never found".

"What? _Never?_ The heir to the throne of _England_ and his baby brother go missing and they _never_ find them?"

"There's been a few skeletons found over the years _attributed_ to them" He explained, "But none that can be confirmed".

Peter frowned, "But if Gull is using the real-life brothers to hide away _these_ bothers… then wouldn't he have had to choose a theory and run with it? And wouldn't that theory be the most likely one since he doesn't have enough time?"

"I-" Morse stopped, "… That actually makes a lot of sense".

"The easiest solution is usually the correct one".

"Where did you get that? A newspaper?"

"Back of my cereal box, actually" He joked, before turning serious once more, "So if Gull's going with the most likely theory as to where the dead princes were found… where does that leave us?"

"… St George's Chapel, Windsor" He worked out, "Which, _again_, too far of a distance for Gull to travel".

"Do we have any George Chapel's in Oxford?"

Morse shook his head, slowing down to stop at a red light.

"None. There's a few churches, but I don't think any of them have towers… Unless-"

He stopped.

"Morse?"

The traffic light went green.

"… Morse?"

The car behind them blew the horn.

"_Morse!_"

The younger man startled and quickly took off again, only to make a completely illegal u-turn that sent them back the way they had just come.

Amid the blaring of horns and screeching of tires, Jakes grabbed onto the dashboard for dear life and swore.

Once they had straightened up again, he rounded on him.

"_What the fuck?!_"

"_St George's Chapel!_"

"Yea, I know, we already worked that one out-"

"They're being kept in the tower".

"I know, Morse, we already said-" He stopped, "Hang on, did you just say _the_ tower?"

"St George's".

"But we don't have a St George's Chapel in Oxford!"

"I _know!_" He snapped, flooring it, "But we _do_ have a St George's _Tower!_"

* * *

Only a few minutes later they came to a sudden stop outside of a familiar stone building.

Jakes stared at it, blinked, and then stared again.

"So… Any reason we've pulled up outside the prison?"

"The actual building is called Oxford Castle" Morse rushed, fighting his seat belt, "But there's a disused part left over from when it actually was a castle, the main part of which, is a tower".

"St George's Tower?" He clarified, and he frantically nodded, "Exactly! And the fact the rest of the building is used as a prison makes it all that more likely! It's- It's a hint, as such, subtle, yes, but- but Gull just _escaped_ prison, so this is like a nudge in the right direction if we hadn't figured that out yet".

"Yea, or a not-so-subtle taunt if we _had_" He shot back, "Morse, if you're sure about this… We need to call this in".

He gestured at the radio, "Then call it in!"

"Backup will take twenty minutes, at least".

"There's one of him, and there's two of us. We don't need backup".

"Morse-"

He opened the car door, "There's two scared little children in there, Jakes. I'm not waiting".

"What if Gull isn't alone?"

"What if instead of those boys, it was Abby?"

They stared at each in tense silent.

"Fuck it".

Morse's victorious smile disappeared as he stepped out.

* * *

It took Jakes' all of forty seconds to explain the situation to the dispatcher, but in that time, Morse had managed to get inside the building, find the man in charge, and ask him to lead the way to St George's Tower.

He had to jog to catch up.

"And you're sure no one's been in or out?"

The warden shook his head, "No one's asked to come this way in the last ten years. But I can't say for certain that nobody managed to sneak in".

"Don't you have guards? Cameras?"

"On the prisoners, sure" He replied, "But this is an abandoned part of the castle, who cares if we can't see it at all times?"

Morse shot Jakes a triumphant look over the warden's head.

Coming up to an old metal gate with a dusty staircase behind it, the man pulled out an old set of keys and began to look through them. When he finally found the right one, he reached forward to put it into the lock, before suddenly stopping.

"_Huh_".

Morse frowned, "What?"

"It's open" He said simply, pushing the gate with a resounding clang, "Strange. I could have sworn I locked this-"

"Sir, I need you to leave. Now".

He turned to them, surprised, "_Leave?_ But why-"

Jakes gently ushered him back down the hallway, "Police business, I'm afraid. More officers should be here soon. Tell them where we are, alright?"

He nodded, still confused, but left as told.

Going back to the gate, he put a hand on Morse's arm as he went to make his way up the darkened stairs.

"Oh, what _now?_"

"I'm going first".

"Says who?"

He held up a revolver, "Says my good friends, Walter and Smith".

Morse blinked.

"… Where the _hell_ did you get that gun from?"

"Checked it out at the station".

"What? _When?!_"

He gave him a dry look, "When I found out my _partner_ was the _grand finale_ in a _psychopaths murder play_".

It was too dark to tell for sure, but he was convinced that Morse was blushing.

"So step aside, and let me go first".

* * *

They crept up the stairs slowly, worried that any misstep would set the old wood crumbling beneath them. It was dark and dusty and took a lot of effort not to cough at the strong smell of must.

Finally, they reached the top of the staircase to where an iron and wooden door stood a few centimetres open.

Morse put his hand on its handle and glanced back at Jakes, who nodded.

'On three' he mouthed, 'one… two… three!'

Yanking the door open, Jakes rushed in, weapon held high and aimed at shoulder level and completely missing the man hiding behind the door.

There was a bang, a yell, and the skidding of a gun across wooden floorboards.

"Peter!"

Morse burst in, making out a figure towering above the older detective, holding something blunt in his hands.

Running in, he tackled him, and they tumbled through the dust and cobwebs as both men fought for the upper hand. Their attacker got in a lucky hit that sent Morse reeling with a coppery iron taste in his mouth, but he pushed asides the pain to pin the man down beneath him again.

"You… are... under… arrest!" He panted, fighting to secure the handcuffs in place.

The man swore, loudly, but once the tell-tale clink of metal snapping shut was heard, he went limp beneath him.

Morse sat back on his heels with a throbbing behind both eyes and blood filling his mouth from a split lip.

Was this it, then?

A low groaning snapped him out of it.

"Jakes?"

Silence.

Morse stiffly got to his feet and turned towards the other shadow lay.

"_Peter?_"

A pause, then:

"… I'm alright".

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Just a few bruises" Jakes said, slowly sitting up, "You go find the kids, and I'll get this guy back to the car".

Morse nodded, once, and then picked up the gun that had been dropped before making his way towards the only other door in the room.

There was a small line of light beneath it, which both reassured and terrified him, and he took a deep, steading breath before reaching out and carefully pushing it open.

* * *

Inside, cowering against the back wall, were two young boys.

* * *

Morse immediately tucked away the gun and pulled out his warrant card, crouching down until he was at the same level as the sitting brothers.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm with the police, see?"

He slowly pushed his badge and ID across the floor, and the older looking boy quickly reached out and snatched it.

He studied it for a minute, before swallowing thickly and nodding, the younger boy slowly unfurling from his place half behind him.

"My name is Morse" He continued, smiling, "And I'm going to take you home".

* * *

Five minutes later, and they were all downstairs. He was carrying the youngest, Richie, in one arm, while he other stayed wrapped around Eddie's shoulders. Once it had kicked in that they were finally safe again, both boys had immediately latched onto him. He's let instinct take over, humming the classic he used whenever Abby woke up from a bad dream, and soon, both boys had been calm enough to move.

In the meantime, the cavalry had arrived, though thankfully Uniform were smart enough to keep their distance from the traumatised boys.

It didn't stop them staring at the gawkish detective holding onto two kids, however, and Morse distantly wondered if they would ever get over the fact that he was a dad.

Spying Peter sitting in the back of an ambulance, he quickly made his way over, and with a little bit of persuasion, the brothers agreed to let the medics check them over.

Jakes grinned at the pair, and then at Morse, who did his best to return it, until he caught sight of the bandages wrapped around the older man's arm.

He immediately snatched it up, almost accusingly.

"_Just bruises_, I believe you said?"

"Caused by that maniac, sure" He agreed, "... I may have sprained my wrist when I fell down though".

"Idiot".

"Says the man who _tackled_ him! _Unarmed_, might I add!"

Morse glanced back up, and the minute they made eye contact, both men grinned again.

"Come on" Peter said, nodding towards the patrol cars, "I bet Thursday wants a word".

"And by 'word' you mean 'scolding'?"

"Yep".

"Can't wait".

* * *

They hadn't gone two feet when there was a screeching of tires and the sound of car doors slamming shut.

Looking back, they saw Mr and Mrs Ridley jump out of a police car and rush over towards the ambulance. Both boys were immediately enveloped in hugs and kisses and reassurances, and there were more than a few tears from all around.

"You know, despite all the pain and the stress and the trouble and everything" Morse said, slowly smiling, "I think moments like this make it all worthwhile".

Peter nodded, "You did good, Morse".

"I couldn't have done it without you".

"And don't you forget it".

"Ass".

"You know you love me".

And for the moment, at least, everything was perfect.


	17. Seventeen

**Seventeen**

After a very public dressing down by Thursday, Morse drove them back to the station while the guv himself went with the man they caught. It didn't take long to book him, the two boys were back with their parents, and asides from Jakes' sprained wrist, no one had gotten hurt.

Which was why both men were more than confused when Thursday stormed into the bullpen with a scowl on his mouth and thunder in his eyes.

He tossed the file at Morse, "It's not Gull".

Jakes stilled, "... I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that".

His glare only deepened, "I said, it's _not_ Mason Gull".

"... The man we caught in the tower?"

"Yes".

"The man with the kidnapped children?"

"Yes".

"The man with the kidnapped children that Gull kidnapped isn't Gull?"

"_Jakes!_" He snapped, and he held up both arms in peace, "Just confirming it, sir. So just who the _hell_ is he?"

"James Braddon" Thursday spat, "Prints were already on file, and he's had more rap sheets than I've had hot dinners. Robbery, burglary, breaking and entering, you name it. The only reason he still isn't behind bars, is because he gives up his accomplices every time".

"Just a regular low life, then" Jakes finished, and he nodded, "What I don't get, is how he got mixed up with Gull".

"… It makes sense".

They all turned at Morse's voice, but he remained staring at the file in his hands.

"Makes sense? How?"

He glanced up with a sardonic smirk, "James _Braddon_ is James _Tyrrell_… Richard never got his own hands dirty, after all".

"Gull hired him to kidnap the brothers? Just as- as Richard hired Tyrrell?"

"That's my take on it" Morse agreed, "After all, Tyrrell got caught in the end, but it's too early for Gull to be arrested. His list isn't complete yet".

"Yea, well, us saving those two kids have thrown a spanner in that list of his".

He sighed and handed the file over to Jakes, "Now _he_ knows that _we_ know. He's going to be more careful. He can't afford any slip up, not now".

Jakes stared at the mugshot of the scrawny looking blonde paper-clipped to the page in front of him. Despite being fair haired, he was definitely too skinny to be their killer, and he wasn't sure if he was happy or annoyed about that.

"Think we could get information about Gull out of him?" He asked, looking back up.

Morse shrugged, "Worth a shot".

Thursday nodded once more, "Alright. You two question him, and I'll update Bright. And try to get his confession about the kids, at least".

* * *

_That_ particular confession was surprisingly easy to wheedle out of the short man sitting across from them.

Jakes was immediately on guard.

"There" Braddon said, putting down the pen, "That's everything".

"Including how Mason Gull hired you to kidnap them?"

He was the picture-perfect image of innocence.

"Mason who?"

Well, easy to get him to confess to everything _except_ Gull's involvement.

"The man who hired you" Jakes continued, "Mason Gull. We already know it was him, we just want you to confirm it".

"I already told you, I don't know who that guy is. I kidnapped those kids by myself".

"For… _entertainment_, I believe you said?"

"Exactly" Braddon grinned, "All for the rush, you know".

He sighed and reached across to grab the signed confession.

"Sorry 'bout your wrist, by the way".

He gave him a dry look, "Much appreciated".

Sliding the page to Morse, he nodded at the smudged writing, "Is it good enough?"

He picked it up and gave a quick read through, "Asides from the lack of You-Know-Who, yea. Enough to put him away for… oh, I don't know… fifteen years, at least".

"You hear that, James? _Fifteen_. _Years_" Jakes said, "That's a _long_ price to pay for keeping your mouth shut".

"I'm not going to give anyone up".

"Bet it's the first time you've said that".

"I ain't a snitch".

"Meaning there _is_ someone that you could snitch on".

"What? _No!_ I just- I mean- Like, in general, that's not-" He growled, "You're twisting my words!"

"Of which, there are a lot" He continued, gesturing at the confession, "More than enough to send you away for a long _long_ time… And child abusers aren't favoured well in prison. What do you think, Morse? Will he last a week? Maybe two?"

Silence.

"Morse?"

Glancing to the side, he saw the man frowning at the page still held in his hands, a strange look on his face.

"Something wrong?"

He stared at it for another moment, before looking up at Braddon, almost curious.

The criminal shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Look, if this is some sort of ploy, I ain't falling for it. I worked alone, alright? I _swear!_"

Morse suddenly stood, causing him to flinch, but the detective ignored him completely, instead leaving the room without a word.

Jakes stared after him, beyond confused.

Braddon had confessed everything except for Gull, and the cursory glance he'd given the page hadn't revealed anything they didn't already know.

So just why had-

The door slammed shut as Morse stormed back in, considerably less calm than before.

He held a piece of paper in his hands, and snatching the signed page once more, he held them both up to the light side by side.

Braddon nervously cleared his throat, "So, am I going back to that cell or something?"

Jakes reluctantly turned his attention back to him, "Ah- Yea, yea, just once the paperwork had been-"

"_No_".

They both looked over at the wayward detective.

"Morse?" He asked hesitantly.

He put the confession back on the desk between them, before slamming down the other page in front of Braddon.

"Care to explain just why the _hell_ you left this in my apartment?"

* * *

Both men froze.

"_What?!_"

"That's your handwriting, is it not?" Morse continued, "Identical to the signed confession that you just wrote in full view of both of us. You wrote this note. You have a history of break ins. And you left this note in my flat after you broke in… Or am I wrong?"

Braddon licked his suddenly dry lips, "I, uh… I don't know what you're-"

"It's the same handwriting!" He snapped, "It even smudged the same because you're left-handed! You might be able to explain away the writing as coincidence, but the fact that you're connected to this case? The fact that you kidnapped two boys who we wouldn't have otherwise found if _not_ for this note? The fact that the reason you've been arrested so many times is because you have a knack for getting into tight places? Places,_ for example_, like the third story window of a detective's apartment? No, please, by all means,_ tell me I'm wrong_".

"I-"

Morse growled.

He wisely shut his mouth.

Jakes stared at the tawny haired fury next to him in awe.

"You're more connected to this case than we realise" He started again, quieter this time, "You're working for Mason Gull. You know of his plans, his motives…_ You know who I am, James_".

* * *

And before their very eyes, the mans shy nervous demeanour began to strip away, revealing cruel eyes and an even meaner smirk behind it.

* * *

"You're his _obsession_" He snarled, "Yea, I wrote that note. And I put it on your kitchen table too. All because Gull told me to… But following you? That was my own doing".

Jakes blinked, completely bewildered, but Morse seemed to catch on pretty quick.

"That was you" He whispered, slowly sinking into his chair, "That day in the street, you were the one who followed me. _Us_. You're the man we lost in that alley".

He sharply turned back to him, taking in the slight build in a whole new light.

"I admit, I was _curious_" He grinned, sharp edged like a shark, "_The great E. Morse_… I wanted to see what the fuss was all about".

"Gull couldn't have been happy".

"What Gull doesn't know, won't hurt him" He replied mildly, "But I have to say, detective… You really _are_ something worth obsessing over".

Jakes snarled but Braddon ignored him.

"I mean, the intelligence is one thing. Gull always did love _clever_… I just wasn't expecting a pretty face to go along with it".

Morse clamped a hand down on Jakes' arm as he tried to lunge across the table at him.

"What has he planned next?" He asked tightly, but Braddon only laughed, "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. Can't ruin the game, after all... Even if you are worth cheating for".

He slid the paper and pen back towards him.

"Write down everything you _do_ know. _Now_".

"It might take a while".

"You're not exactly going anywhere".

Braddon grinned and shrugged, "Fair enough. Dinner's included, right?"

* * *

Thursday was, if possible, even angrier than Jakes when they explained how the interrogation had gone, and Morse didn't think that he could blush any redder.

"The cheek of him!"

"Sir-"

"I mean, lying to the police is one thing but _that_-"

"Sir!"

"-and then to _say_ that you're-"

"_Sir!_"

He stopped and took a deep breath.

"Sorry, Morse. Go on".

"Braddon said he doesn't know what Gull is planning to do next".

"And do you believe him?"

"Honestly? Yes" He replied, shrugging, "Gull isn't someone who would reveal all of his plans at once, so it makes sense that Braddon was only updated when needed".

"Who's left on that list of his?"

"Queen Elizabeth is indisposed and the Duke of Buckingham is hanged".

"When you say _indisposed_…"

"She wasn't killed" He clarified, "Just forced away from England, King Edward, the children… Elizabeth and her daughter took sanctuary to escape Richard, and remained that way until the end of the war. Buckingham, although originally on Richard's side, began to doubt him. He betrayed Richard, so he had him hanged for treason".

"Man, he _really_ likes his revenge, doesn't he?" Jakes muttered.

"And we still have no idea who these two are supposed to represent?"

"None" Morse reluctantly admitted, "Whatever about Buckingham, Queen Elizabeth should have been figured out _days_ ago! She's someone with a connection to Richard, to England, someone who poses no threat but is still in the way… We should have come across her by now".

"None of the victims families have an 'Elizabeth'?" Thursday asked, but he shook his head, "Not in their immediate families, no. But it wouldn't matter, either way. This is someone… someone we're _close_ to. Someone we'd notice if they became 'indisposed'… It doesn't make sense that we haven't found her yet".

"Well, keep looking. And try and get a profile together for this Buckingham guy too. Who knows, we might even find _him_ first".

* * *

"It doesn't make any _sense!_" Morse snapped two hours later, tugging at his hair, and Jakes nodded, "Nor does life, yet here we are… You need to talk it out?"

"_Please_".

He kicked the chair away from his desk so he could turn to face the younger man, full attention focused on him and him alone.

"We know it's Gull" Morse started.

"We do".

"And we know he used James Braddon as a replacement for James Tyrell".

"Yep".

"But we're still short a Buckingham".

"We are indeed".

He scowled down at the files on his desk.

"Gull doesn't work with others. He's always been by himself. Less evidence, less loose ends, less witnesses, that way… Yet he took James Braddon onboard, and now, supposedly, has another man working for him too".

"That's the short version, yes".

He glanced up at him, "… How would Gull hire someone that's only _temporarily_ loyal to him?"

"With great difficulty".

"_Peter_".

"_Morse_" He teased back, "… Hey, are you ever going to tell me what the 'E' stands for?"

He stared at him, mouth open, "_Priorities!_"

"It's a priority to me" He mumbled, ducking as a paper ball sailed over his head, "Alright, alright, _fine!_"

"_Think_" Morse snapped, "How would you find not one, but _two_ people willing to kidnap children for you, and know that only _one_ of them would betray you?"

"Maybe he took that scene with a pinch of salt?"

"He's been sticking to the script so far, why change now?" He countered, "No, there's something we're missing… something _obvious_…"

"Well" Jakes began slowly, "What if it _wasn't_ two people?"

"You mean if Gull hired just the one?"

"Exactly. What if it wasn't just James for _James_… but it was also Braddon for _Buckingham?_"

"Braddon has a history of giving up his accomplices" Morse muttered, "Gull could, reasonably, presume that this case would be no different".

"He gets the job done, kidnaps the kids, takes the fall… And then tries to save himself".

"Just like Buckingham did when things got tough".

They stared at each other.

Jakes grinned.

Morse grinned back.

And then the hallway was filled with yelling.

Leaping from their seats, they both rushed for the stairs, following the shouting and other officers to the cell block.

"No" Morse suddenly said, stopping, "No, no, _no_. He- He _couldn't_ have, that wasn't-"

"Morse?"

He turned to face Peter's worried eyes, "… Buckingham was hanged".

* * *

They stared at the body in front of them, the last of the officers having left long ago.

James Braddon hung from the bars on his cell window, bedsheet wrapped tightly around his neck, a death eerily similar to that of Rosalind Calloway.

"Morse-"

"_Don't_".

The corpse was pale, with livid blue bruises slowly appearing around his neck and eyes.

"… I should have known".

"You couldn't have-"

"Braddon was _Buckingham_, Jakes!"

It was the sudden use of his last name that shut him up.

"Braddon was _Buckingham_" He repeated quietly, "And Buckingham was _hanged_ not _hours_ after betraying Richard… I _told_ him to write down everything he knew about Gull. _I signed his death warrant_".

"You didn't even _know_ he was Buckingham until an hour ago!"

"But I _should_ have! I should have realised that-"

"You made a mistake, Morse, you're _human_".

"Not _good_ enough-"

"Why do you have to be _better?_" He shot back, "What happened here, you're not to blame for _any_ of it".

Morse finally turned his gaze away from Braddon's body, "… Someone should call Max".

"Already did".

"Good. Great, that's… that's good" He gave a jerky nod and brushed past him without a word.

* * *

A few minutes later, and Thursday appeared, expression grey and drawn.

"… Half the station just heard your row".

"Only half?" Jakes replied wryly.

"I sent him home for the day. None of us are going to get much more done here, anyway" He said, "See to it he gets there safely, alright?"

"Yes sir".

Thursday patted him on the shoulder as he left, and Jakes sighed as he was left alone with the body once more.

"Couldn't have just let us have this one, huh?"

It didn't answer.

He sighed again.

"Yea. That's what I thought".


	18. Eighteen

**Eighteen**

Returning to the main office, Jakes found Morse staring at the evidence board, keys held limply in his hands, and his expression worryingly blank.

"The guv said to drive you home" He said as greeting.

Morse didn't move.

Sighing, Jakes made his way over until he stood next to him. In front of them, James Braddon's mugshot had been moved from the 'suspects' list to the 'victims'.

"… Come on" He finally said, gently prying the car keys from Morse's loose grip, "Let's get out of here".

The drive to Morse's flat was a silent affair, and Jakes couldn't help but remember a similar quiet car ride to Oxford Castle and St George's Tower. Glancing over, he saw the younger man leaning his head against the window in the same way too.

_Christ, had that really been less than twelve hours ago?_

* * *

Pulling up outside the block of apartments, he led the engine run idly for a moment, before coming to a decision.

Turning the keys, he pocketed them and opened the driver's door.

Morse still didn't move.

Walking around to the passenger side, he coaxed the detective out of the car and gently led him into the building. Jakes distantly wondered if he was in shock, and decided to call DeBryn if there was no reaction within the hour.

Reaching the third floor, he got the keys out of Morse's coat and unlocked the door, ushering him inside.

There was a sudden thud from within, and the sound of someone running through the apartment and Jakes felt a brief moment of panic before familiar auburn hair came around the corner.

"Daddy!"

Morse startled, blinked, and looked around.

"And Mr Peter!"

Two pairs of bright blue eyes locked onto him, and he forced a smile.

"Hey kiddo".

Abigail frowned, obviously sensing that something was amiss, "What are you doing here?"

"Ah… Your dad just had a bad day at work, so… so I wanted to make sure he got home okay".

It wasn't a lie.

Even if wasn't also the full truth.

"Daddy?"

And finally, finally, Morse snapped out of it.

"Hey Abby, how was your day?"

She relaxed, not seeing the tension behind the man's smile, and began to chatter at a hundred miles an hour, so Jakes closed the door behind them and busied himself by looking for somewhere to put the keys.

It'd be weird to slip them back into the younger man's coat pocket, especially in front of Abby, but there was no hook on the wall or nearby counter-top either. Maybe he should just wait? Or put them on the kitchen table? But that would mean going further into the flat and he'd already invited himself in which was enough intrusion by itself so he couldn't just-

A warm hand on his own stopped him.

Quickly turning back, he found that Abigail had disappeared once more and Morse was staring back at him almost shyly.

He glanced down at their joined hands as the younger man carefully pried away the keys.

"_Thank you_".

He looked back up.

Morse wasn't talking about the keys.

"No problem".

He smiled, genuinely this time, and Jakes couldn't help but smile back.

"Mr Peter?"

He quickly turned back to find the 5-year-old standing at the sitting room door, and an older woman standing behind her with an odd look on her face.

"What can I do for you, kiddo?"

"I want to show you my drawings" came the immediate response, as she rushed over to take his hand, "I did lots and _lots_ today and Mon says she has to talk with Daddy so in the meantime I can show you!"

"Lead the way" He agreed, awkwardly nodded at 'Mon' as they passed.

She narrowed her eyes in response and he distantly felt like he was being scolded for something.

* * *

"-_this_ one and _this_ one and _that_ one's a dragon and I have flowers too and cars and-"

Within five minutes, Abigail had successfully used up his people-capacity for the day.

He didn't know how the little girl could talk so much, or draw so much either, though, to be fair, most of her 'drawings' were just splotches of colour and wiggly lines and it seemed like her imagination just filled in the rest.

"-and _that_ was the last one I did!"

"It's beautiful" He replied automatically, as the red-covered page was thrust in his face, "It's, um… what was it, again?"

"A horse!" She replied crossly, "_Obviously!_"

It was a bright red circle with five seemingly random purple lines.

"Obviously".

She sighed and sat back down on the cushions that had amassed on the floor.

"Are you staying for dinner?"

"Ah… I… don't… know" Jakes awkwardly said, "I don't think so?"

She pouted, "Why not?"

"Well… Uh… Your dad had a… difficult day, today. And I don't want to- to make it more difficult by… well, by- by being here".

Abigail nodded sagely, as if he had explained everything with that one garbled sentence and she'd managed to read between the lines.

Then again, being Morse's daughter, she very well could have.

"I want you to stay for dinner. Do you?"

That, at least, he could answer honestly.

"I'd love to".

She grinned.

"Then you can be here tomorrow morning as well!"

He almost choked.

"I- I'm not- I mean- I just- just- um, I have to- to-"

She peered at him, concerned, "Mr Peters? Are you alright?"

He felt like a deer stuck in headlights.

"Are you traumatising the good sergeant?"

Jakes jumped as Morse suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No!" Abigail protested, "I was just asking him to stay for dinner!"

"_Oh_" Morse immediately straightened up, "Ah, well, that's… I'm sure he has other things that need to be done-"

"I don't" Jakes interrupted quickly.

"You… don't?"

He shook his head.

Abigail grinned, "Good. Then you have to stay".

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, at first filled by Abigail's rambling or the random questions she asked that made Jakes wonder just how the hell she came up with them in the first place. Morse always answered her, of course, but it was obvious that he was still on edge, and after a while, his daughter thankfully let him be. Jakes didn't mind the silence; anything was better than eating a microwave meal alone in his cold dark flat, but it was _after_ dinner that he truly enjoyed.

The last night he'd been here, he'd gone through the motions with Abigail, brushing her hair and teeth and reading her a story and generally just making things up as he went along.

Seeing Morse do it, however, was an entirely different story.

He was used to it, after all, and Jakes quickly realised that his new favourite thing _wasn't_ seeing Morse with Abigail in the morning, but seeing him with her at _night_.

He stood on the edge with a stupid smile on his face as they went through bath time, changing into pyjama's, and reading a bed time story.

The only difference being that the story in question was notably _not_ Shakespeare.

* * *

By half eight, she was sound asleep in bed, and Jakes followed Morse back to the sitting room and watched as he collapsed in the armchair with a heavy sigh.

After a moment's hesitation, he reached underneath the seat and pulled out a mostly-full bottle of whiskey.

Jakes blinked.

Morse stared at it for a minute before carefully placing it on the low coffee table between them.

He cleared his throat, "If you're worried about drinking too much, I can stop you".

Morse snorted and shook his head, "It's not that… I don't think I even _want_ a drink… I just need something to take my mind off of it".

They sat in silence for what felt like eternity but in reality, couldn't have been more than ten minutes.

Then Jakes took a deep breath, stood up, and held out his hand.

Morse looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I don't actually expect you to stay, you know".

"I know".

"If you don't want to, you can go. I can explain it to Abby".

"I know".

"… If you do stay, I'm not expecting sex".

He started at the blunt language, but still smiled in response.

"I know".

Jakes wiggled his fingers.

"Come on".

* * *

Morse took his hand, and he led him to the man's bedroom in silence. Once there, he turned, closing the door before gently pulling off the younger man's suit jacket and carefully hanging it up.

Thundercloud eyes watched him the entire time, but made no movement as he deftly began to unbutton the crisp white shirt. After that, came shoelaces and socks. And then, finally, the snap of a belt and pressed trousers.

Jakes folded everything, making sure that they wouldn't be wrinkled for tomorrow morning, before taking off his own clothes with much less care.

He took Morse's hand once more, and led him towards the bed, pliant and warm in his hold as he manoeuvred them to his liking.

Lying on his back, Jakes pulled him close until he had one arm wrapped around his neck and the other resting protectively, _possessively_, on his hip. Morse's head was resting on his shoulder, one hand tucked beneath him and one lying flat on his chest.

He could feel the tension slowly draining from the younger man's body.

He waited until Morse was completely relaxed, warm and drowsy, before speaking.

"It wasn't your fault".

He immediately stiffened.

"I mean it, Morse. I understand why you think it was, and, _yea_, if I were you, I'd probably blame myself as well… But you had no way of knowing, and you didn't tie that noose".

"… It doesn't feel that way".

"Of course, it doesn't. And it probably won't, not for a while yet. But eventually, you'll realise that you couldn't have done anything. You didn't kill Braddon, you didn't kill Rigsby, and you sure as _hell_ didn't kill anyone else… You're a damn good detective, Morse, and as much as it pains me to say it, you're _probably_ the best in the force. After me. _Obviously_".

He snorted, but relaxed in his hold.

"You need to take things easier, that's all" Jakes continued, "You don't deserve any blame for this; _you're_ not the lunatic who escaped prison… So, as pointless as it probably is to say, don't be so hard on yourself, alright?"

He got no response, and after a few seconds, glanced down.

Blue eyes glistened in the dim light, and once Morse knew he had his attention, he placed a light kiss on his neck.

"I take that as yes, then?"

Another kiss, this time firmer.

"I'm going to take that as a yes".

Soft lips trailed up pale skin until they reached his jaw, and a particularly sensitive place just below it had him groaning.

Morse grinned, mouth hot and wet, and began sucking at his skin in earnest.

Jakes' tightened his hold on the little minx, enough to leave bruises of his own, but that, if anything, only seemed to spur the younger man on further.

Rolling on top of him, Morse smirked wickedly and began leaving a patchwork of bruises along his neck.

"How do you expect m-me to- to cover these tomorrow?" He asked, receiving a bite for his trouble, but the hot tongue that came after it soothed any irritated skin.

"Maybe I don't" Morse replied, "Maybe I want everyone in the station to know that you're taken".

Another bite, this time just below his ear.

"Maybe I want everyone in the station to know that you're _mine_".

He groaned and let his head fall back, hands coming up to grab angular hips.

Morse took the hint and straddled him, leaving a vivid bruise above his collar bone just at the same time that he ground down.

"_Fuck_".

He grinned.

"I couldn't agree more".

* * *

Afterwards, sated and sleepy, Jakes buried his face into tawny-coloured hair and Morse began idly tracing random shapes on reddened skin.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"… What are we doing?"

He frowned; eyes still closed.

"We're going to sleep".

"That's not what I meant".

"… I know".

With a huge yawn, he pulled back until he could see the younger man more clearly.

The streetlights cast a warm glow over Morse's pale skin, and turned his fiery hair golden.

"Does it need a label?"

He pouted and Jakes wanted to kiss him senseless.

"I like labelling things".

He smirked, "I've noticed… Well, I suppose, in fear of wearing my heart on my sleeve… I haven't been with anyone since I realised I liked you".

In the burnt hazy light, it felt easier to admit these things.

"Me neither" He replied simply, "Not since you walked me home that night".

"Only _then?_"

"Why? How long have you fancied me for?"

"… Embarrassingly long".

"Peter".

"Morse".

"_Jakes_".

He paused.

"Well that's not fair. You know both of my names, but I only know one of yours".

"Don't change the subject".

He sighed, "… It's been a _while_, alright? I don't think even _I_ know when it started".

"Weeks? Months?"

Silence.

Morse propped himself up on one elbow in order to look down at him in shock.

"_Years?_"

"_I don't know_, alright?!" He defended, "I just… I mean, you're smart and funny and _cute_ and I- I don't know! I've only been conscious of it for a few months but… Well… Boys pulling pigtails, and all that".

Morse looked stuck between disbelief and awe.

"So, you're telling me, that _all_ those years when you were an absolute _ass_… It was because _you thought I was cute?!_"

"… Maybe?"

He stared.

"… That's it. We're labelling this".

Jakes tugged him back down until he could curl up around the man once more.

"Alright, _fine_. Labels. What do you want?"

"Well, I think we're _well_ past the stage of friends with benefits Mr I've-Been-Secretly-Pining-For-Years".

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

He rolled his eyes, exasperated.

It was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

The next morning was just as fluffy and domestic as the first time he'd stayed over, complete with Abigail's still-half-asleep-ness and Morse's crosswords and "I'm finished"-"No you're not". It was, however, a workday, so as much as Jakes longed to hang around and go to the park like they did last Saturday, there wasn't enough time.

It also meant that he met Abigail's temporary babysitter for the first time.

'Mon' was Monica Hicks.

The nurse.

And also the woman who kept glaring at him.

"She's after breakfast and her teeth are brushed".

"I know, Morse".

"She just needs to get dressed".

"I can do that".

"And she'll probably be on a sugar-high from Peter being here".

"Peter?"

"Peter Jakes. Sergeant".

"The one pretending he's not eavesdropping?"

He stilled, caught out, before quickly going back to tossing the car keys in the air and catching them.

Morse simply smirked and tugged Monica further into the kitchen.

Jakes could still distantly hear them.

"So? Come on, what's his deal?"

"Do I really need to spell it out?"

"No, actually, the pretty patchwork on his neck made sure of that".

Jakes internally groaned as he resisted the urge to reach up and touch the bruises that littered his skin.

There was no _bloody_ way his suit and shirt would cover them, no matter how much he tightened his tie, and Morse, the absolute _bastard_, loved it.

"-never introduced your bedfellows to Abby before".

He quickly tuned back in.

"It's… different. _He's_ different".

"Abby seemed to love him".

"She does".

"Do you?"

"… It's getting late and-"

"Morse".

"-we need to swing by Peter's flat first, anyway, so he can change-"

"_Morse_".

"-and honestly, we're going to be late enough as it is-"

"_Morse!_"

"… I don't know yet".

"But it's serious?"

"… Yea. We're- We're pretty serious".

Jakes felt his face flush and was glad they could no longer see him.

"Boyfriends, then?"

"If you like".

"It's not _me_ that likes him".

"Mon-"

"Don't worry, I won't say anything, just… just be careful, yea? I don't want to see you get hurt".

"I won't. _He_ won't".

"… Is he good to you?"

"The best".

"… Alright then. You should say goodbye to Abby again before you go".

* * *

Jakes quickly tried to look busy as they re-emerged from the kitchen, but he could tell from one look of Monica's sharp eyes that it was pointless.

Waiting until Morse had disappeared down the hall, she marched straight up to him and jabbed a finger against his chest.

"You better take good of him".

He swallowed thickly, "I will, don't worry".

"Oh no, it's not _me_ who should be worried, Sergeant" She replied fiercely, "Do you know what I work as?"

"A… nurse?"

"Exactly. Do you know what that means?"

"… Not really?"

She stepped closer until they were almost nose-to-nose.

"It means, _Sergeant_, that if you break his heart? Not only am I _fully_ capable of breaking _every_ bone in your body-"

She leant forward to whisper in his ear.

"-but I can also name _every single one_ as they _snap_… Understood?"

Jakes quickly nodded.

"Good" She replied, smiling, taking a step back as Morse reappeared.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What have you been saying?"

"Not much" She said cheerfully, "Just getting to know your _boyfriend_ here. But if I were you, Morse, I'd hurry. Don't want to explain to that Inspector of yours why you're late, now, do you?"


	19. Nineteen

**Nineteen**

Much to Jakes' chagrin and Morse's amusement, he didn't own a single shirt-and-tie combination that could cover the marks on his neck. He pouted the entire way to the station, and only scowled when Morse tried to kiss away his frown before they left the safety of the car. It was pointless. And the only suitable response, Jakes quickly decided, was to get revenge. He'd give it a few days, wait for the bruise and bites to fade, and then give the smirking detective a few of his own and see how _he_ liked it.

Knowing Morse, the bastard probably _would_.

Either way, he glared at the retreating figure of his lover-boyfriend-partner as he smugly strolled into the police station, then he counted to ten and went in after him.

It was already obvious that he'd spent the night with someone else, after all, but there was no need to tell the world just who with.

He hadn't been inside the door two minutes before the cat calling and whistling began.

From behind the desk sergeant's counter, Strange grinned.

"Looks like _someone_ had a good night".

"Oh, shove off".

"Just saying, matey" He teased, holding both hands up in defence, "It looks like you got _mauled_".

He hung up his coat with a sigh, resigning himself to his faith.

A nearby constable leered, "Fun night, Sarge?"

"_Yes_, actually" He bit out, before turning his back to him, "If you'll excuse me…"

The short walk to the office wasn't any less loud.

"Look who's doin' the walk of shame, lads!"

"Oy! Mate! Next time ask her for some concealer, alright?"

"Honestly Sarge, if you want to show off that much just bring her in!"

He kept his head high, marched past each and every nudge and jeer, and didn't stop until he was towering over the cause of his mockery.

Morse was barely trying to muffle his laughter.

He leant as close as possible with the desk between them, and stabbed an accusatory finger at his chest.

"_I. Hate. You_".

Morse grinned and closed the gap until there was a mere inch between them.

"_That's not what you said last night_".

From behind them, came a pointed cough, and Jakes leapt back as if scalded.

Thursday stood there, arms crossed, with Bright raising an unimpressed eyebrow next to him.

"Problem, gentlemen?"

"No sir" He quickly said, "Just a… a slight disagreement, that's all".

Thursday's gaze immediately latched onto his neck and he swallowed thickly.

Bright sighed, "And here I was, hoping that you'd both grown out of these playground fights".

"Won't happen again, sir" Morse added, smirking just enough for Jakes to see.

"Ensure that it _doesn't_, detective" He snapped, "Updates?"

* * *

Jakes immediately jumped into action, half-running to the evidence board, desperate for a change of topic in case Thursday got too suspicious.

"Yes sir. We know Gull is killing them based on characters from Richard III. So far, we've had Sarah Vickery as Lady Anne, Roger Allen as Clarence, Jakes Bannon for King Edward, Sean Rigsby as Lord Hastings, and James Bradson as both James Tyrrell and Lord Buckingham. The two boys, Eddie and Richard, played the role of the princes, but we saved them in time and both them and their parents are currently in protective custody".

"You said 'so far'?" Bright asked, and he glanced back at Morse for help.

"There's still a missing person, sir" He explained, standing up to join them at the evidence board, "Queen Elizabeth. Not killed, thankfully, but… indisposed, as it were. If he's basing his victims off of the victims in the play, then she should have turned up by now. Injured, definitely, but with a full prospect of survival".

"Surely there are hundreds of women who go hospital for bits and pieces every day?"

"I'm sure there are, sir… However, there are _very_ few women who would fit this category" Morse continued, "All of our victims had some connection to one another, for starters, but they also had a name similar or identical to the characters. Eddie and Richard as Prince Edward and Prince Richard are, of course, the most obvious two, but Mr Allen's middle name was Clancy, and he played the role of Clarence".

"So, we're looking for a woman connected to at least one of our previous victims, with her first, middle, or last name some variation of 'Elizabeth'?"

"Yes sir".

Bright considered the board for a moment, before turning to Thursday, "Have we men posted at local hospitals?"

He nodded, "As well as clinics and doctor offices, sir".

"Good. Keep searching".

He turned on his heel and marched out, and Morse barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Jakes caught the action and snorted, quickly covering it up with a cough as Thursday turned back to them.

He stared at them peculiarly, "… That was no 'slight disagreement', was it?"

Morse abruptly stilled and Jakes heard his heart pound loudly against his chest.

Thursday nodded, once, as if confirming something to himself, before heading towards his office without waiting for an answer.

Jakes turned wide eyes onto the other detective, who looked equally shaken.

"_Does he know?!_" He hissed, and Morse slowly shook his head, "I- I don't _think_ so. How would he?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it has something to do with _this!_" He snapped, gesturing at the purples and blues that littered his neck.

The younger man slowly blinked, before smirking, "Well, I _did_ say I wanted everyone to know who you belonged to".

And with that, he turned and strutted back to his desk, smugness radiating from every pore.

Jakes narrowed his eyes and decided that revenge, was, in fact, the best way to go.

And he wasn't going to wait much longer to exact it.

* * *

Jakes couldn't help but feel guilty around Thursday all day. The man hadn't said anything, nor had he given them any more odd looks, but there was still something just there that made him want to run and hide for ever looking at the guv's unofficial son.

Morse, on the other hand, was acting completely normal, if a little smug, and continued working on the case, throwing himself into hospital records and doctor's appointments in the hopes of finding Gull's next victim before anything worse happened to her.

The rest of the station were hell bent on reminding Jakes of his pretty patchwork every chance they got, some even making up excuses to come into the office just to give a remark or two. Strange, the _traitor_, was fully on their side, and enjoyed ridiculing him every time he left to get tea.

So, needless to say, he didn't get much work done that day.

As a result, the day seemed to drag, as he couldn't focus on the files in front of him and kept imagining Thursday staring at him from between his office blinds. When closing time came, he jumped to his feet, fully intending to drag Morse back to one of their flats and give him a few marks of his own. As if sensing his intentions, the man in question grinned and grabbed his coat, leaving a few minutes early to put enough time between them so it wouldn't be suspicious.

His plan was abruptly cancelled, however, when Thursday came out with his coat and hat and said, "Run me home, Jakes, would you?"

It wasn't as if he could say no.

* * *

It was by far the most embarrassing car ride of his life.

He'd expected the guv' to launch into some speech about virtue or shotguns or something, but instead, he'd remained quiet. And let him wait. And stew. And wonder if he wasn't actually driving his boss home but instead was driving himself to his own funeral.

This was why Joan and Sam were such good kids.

Fifteen minutes in, Thursday let out a slow breath, and if it hadn't been for the busy traffic, Jakes would have squeezed his eyes closed, tight.

He turned slightly in his seat, not enough to fully face the sergeant, but enough to let him know where his attention was focused.

"… Jakes-"

"I'm sorry!"

"You're… _sorry?_ What for?"

Jakes was currently asking himself the same question.

He'd heard the old man start speaking and could already sense the oncoming storm and had panicked, blurting out the first thing that had come to mind.

Only now he had no follow up and was currently trapped in a moving vehicle with the man demanding one.

"For… For not... telling... you?" He guessed.

"Not telling me about what?"

"You know about what. Sir".

Another sigh.

"In this moment, Jakes, I'm not your boss".

"… Are you going to threaten me?"

"Do you need to be threatened?"

"_No!_" He quickly replied, "No, no, I- I know _full_ well what- what could happen, _would_ happen if I ever- ever-"

"Ever caused him even one tiny little ounce of pain? Upset him? Angered him? Hurt him, somehow?"

"Yes! _Yes_, all of that, I- yes! I know!"

Thursday hummed, "Do you really?"

"I… can... imagine?"

"I'm sure you can, Jakes. But what _I'd_ do to you, is a hell of a lot _worse_ than whatever your imagination is _capable_ of dreaming up. Understood?"

He pulled onto Thursday's street and let out a sigh of relief.

"Understood".

"Good" He replied, "Drive around the block, will you?"

He could barely change gears; his hand was shaking so much.

"You two weren't exactly _subtle_ today" Thursday continued, "What with your neck and Morse's smug smiles. Asides from that, there were a few small telling details that you forgot about. Your tie, for instance, is the same one you wore yesterday, despite the different suit. Why change one without the other?"

"I-"

"That was rhetorical".

At this rate, he was going to die of a heart attack before ever reaching Morse's flat.

"What are your intentions with my bagman, Jakes?"

"I… I like him" He said lamely, turning right, "I mean, _more_ than that, I- I _really_ like him, maybe even… well, you know. I just… I just want him to be happy".

"And his daughter?"

"Abby? Of course, I want her to be happy as well! She's- She's _brilliant!_ Funny and clever and adorable and just- just brilliant".

_When had he stopped calling her Abigail?_

"And in the future?"

"I don't see this ending anytime soon, if that's what you mean" Jakes said, taking yet another right.

He could feel Thursday's stare boring a hole into the side of his head.

"It's not, but thanks for clarifying".

His heart skipped a beat.

"I thought you and Morse disliked each other".

"I was… I was jealous" He admitted, "I mean, you know how he is, he's… he's just _fantastic_. I don't know, I guess- I guess I felt… _threatened_, by him, at the beginning. But after a few cases I saw who he really was. We… became friends, as such. After Abby came into the station a few weeks ago, it started to become something _more_. I… care for him. Deeply. _A lot_".

"And does he feel the same?"

He couldn't help but give a wry smirk, "With all due respect, _sir_, would I currently look like this if he didn't?"

Thursday said nothing, but as they pulled back onto his street, he gestured at a nearby parking space.

He gladly pulled in and willed his breathing to slow down.

"I can't say I like this, Jakes".

His heart sunk.

"… But on the other hand, I don't exactly dislike it either".

He risked a glanced at the guvnor.

Thursday caught his gaze and held it.

"If you hurt him, in _any_ shape, way, or form, I _will_ hunt you down, and I _will_ make you regret ever even _looking_ at him" He growled, "… Now, that being said, I trust Morse to make his own decisions, so if he has chosen you, I won't stand in the way".

He opened the passenger door and stepped out, leaning down to the open window once he'd shut it after him.

"Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes sir" He replied hollowly, "Agreed".

* * *

It took an entire seven minutes after Thursday had disappeared into the house for his raising heart to slow.

Jakes clenched the steering wheel tightly, palms sweaty and breathing ragged.

_Fred Thursday_ had just given him the _shovel talk._

And it wasn't even about Joan.

Okay. Well. He knows, now, so… so that was good? Yea. That was good. This way, they wouldn't have to tell him and… well… they could just continue on as normal, he guessed. It was fine. This was fine. They sort of had his half blessing so it was all fine.

_Fine_.

Taking a deep breath, Jakes closed his eyes for a minute before turning on the engine.

He was just about to pull out onto the road again, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye, and turned only to find Thursday running back towards the car.

His first thought was, unsurprisingly, that he'd changed his mind and is now coming to kill him.

His second, more rational thought, was that his boss must have forgotten something in the car.

His third and final thought, was that Thursday looked awfully worried, and had a touch of fear in his face that only ever appeared when-

_Morse_.

* * *

They raced back to the station and made it in record time, breaking more than a few speed limits along the way.

Jakes didn't care.

They burst in to find a half a dozen ashen faced officers standing around and distant yelling coming from the office. Thursday grabbed the nearest man and shook him, hard, "What is it? Where is he?! _What happened?!_"

He jerkily pointed towards the main room and they took off before he could get a verbal answer out.

The office was in chaos.

Papers were strewn across the floor, the evidence board was splintered down the centre, and chairs were upturned. In the centre of it all, stood Morse, shouting and raving and gesturing wildly with bloody knuckles and a rumbled suit. Strange, the only other man in the room, had him held by the arms, trying to get him to calm down but he kept yelling and ranting and-

"Strange!" Thursday snapped, "What the _hell_ is this?!"

"I- I don't _know_, sir, I'm trying to- to _find out_ but he won't- just-"

Morse managed to get a decent hit in and the older man let go with a howl.

Jakes immediately rushed over, grabbing Morse by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

"Morse? _Morse_! Hey, _look at me!_"

The man continued to rave nonsense, a mix of words about the case, about his flat, about- about Monica?

"God dammit, man, stop fighting, _it's_ _me!_" He snapped, moving both hands to his face.

Morse abruptly stilled.

Jakes was shocked and somewhat scared to see tears in his eyes.

"… Morse?"

He blinked.

"… He has her".

"He has _who_, Morse?" Thursday asked, cautiously coming closer, "Who's 'he'?"

"Gull" He replied, voice hoarse and breaking on that single word.

Jakes frowned, "Gull? He has- Hang on, did you find Elizabeth? _Morse?!_"

He frantically shook his head, "No! _No_, you don't- you're not-"

"Morse!"

Wide rain-filled eyes latched back onto him.

"Gull has her" He repeated, swallowing thickly as the first tear overflowed, "_Gull took Abby_".


	20. Twenty

**Twenty**

It took twenty precious minutes to get the full story from the shaken detective.

Jakes stayed next to him, too close to just be friendly, but since Strange was smart enough not to mention it and Thursday already knew, he wasn't bothered by it.

Morse had left earlier that evening as usual, had walked the twenty minutes to his flat, found the door locked and undamaged, and had gone in just the same as he always did. Once inside, he'd shut the door behind him and when she hadn't rushed into him, he called out for Abby.

There was no response.

Next, he called for Monica, and when that likewise gartered no answer, had quickly made his way through the entire flat. He found the nurse in the little girl's bedroom, unconscious but otherwise unharmed. He rang for an ambulance, panicking, and rechecked every room until paramedics arrived. They assured him Monica was going to be okay, and he had immediately raced back to the station.

Abigail Morse was officially declared missing at 7:18pm.

* * *

Thursday immediately leapt into action, ordering CID over to check out the apartment in the off chance they'd find fingerprints, hairs, drugs, anything that could link them to the suspect.

Privately, they all knew that Mason Gull wasn't much of a suspect. Who else would specifically target Morse, after all? But still, procedure had to be followed, and despite knowing exactly who'd kidnapped the five-year-old, they needed proof to back up that theory.

Not that a kidnapping charge would make much different to the five murder-one life sentences he was going to serve.

After calling DeBryn, Jakes stuck close to the now-silent detective, an arm around his shoulders in comfort, however little it might actually give.

* * *

Strange sighed loudly and dropped the file he was holding onto Jakes desk.

"I just don't get it, matey, how the _hell_ does this fit in with the Richard III theme?"

"If Morse is Gull's 'England' then… I don't know, maybe Abby's seen as a _part_ of that England?" He guessed, and Thursday slowly nodded, "It could be, but it still seems too… _out there_ for someone as careful as Gull. Everyone else has been based on a character before, so why stop now?"

"But she's not Queen Elizabeth" Jakes argued, "She's far too young, to start with. And she doesn't have _anything_ in common with her. Queen Elizabeth had nothing to do with the- the _metaphorical_ England".

"Well then, what character _is_ she?"

"Elizabeth of York".

They all turned as Morse suddenly spoke.

"She's Elizabeth of York" He repeated quietly, "Queen Elizabeth's daughter. Richard invited her to dine with him, and she faced death if she refused".

They all stared at him, Thursday finally gathering up the nerve to ask the question they were all thinking of.

"… Does he hurt her?"

"No" He replied, voice hoarse as he finally looked up, "But he kills her father".

Silence.

Thursday quickly straightened, "Right, that settles it then. Morse you're getting protection duty 24/7 and- _no_, don't argue with me, we have as close to solid proof as we can get that he's going to try and kill you, you're getting guards _whether you like it or not!_ Strange, check in with Uniform and CID, see if they've found anything yet. Jakes-"

He turned to him, only to find the Sergeant half-wrapped around the young detective, whispering reassurances low enough for only him to hear.

He sighed.

"Just- Just stay there".

* * *

When DeBryn finally arrived, he took one look at the chaos around and at Morse's haunted, beaten stance, and made an education guess.

"Abigail?"

Jakes nodded.

He let out a heavy breath before slowly making his way over with a first aid kit.

Morse's knuckles were still bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice the sting of antiseptic, or the uncomfortable tightness that came with elastic bandages.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, taping the last one in place.

"Mason Gull" Jakes explained, "Knocked out the babysitter with some sort of drug, and took Abby".

"Any leads on where he'd have taken her?"

He shook his head.

Morse remained unresponsive, staring at the floor, weight slumped back against his desk.

DeBryn studied him for a minute, before his gaze inevitably landed on Jakes' arm still wrapped around the younger man. Between that, and their sudden closeness, it didn't take much for him to put two and two together.

"A word?"

Jakes reluctantly nodded and stepped off to the side with the pathologist, close enough if Morse needed him but still out of earshot.

"As poorly timed as this is, Sergeant, I _do_ feel the need to warn you about what would happen should you hurt him. Inspector Thursday, I'm sure, has gone into _great_ detail, but still I'd advise you to remember what _I_ do for a living".

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"I'd rather not have you on my table, Jakes, so don't make me put you there".

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

DeBryn relaxed once more.

"Good. Now, unfortunately our resident kidnapper had left me more than a few bodies that still have paperwork attached, so I have to go. Those bandages need to changed in about six hours, wash the cuts with warm water, and then leave them alone for the air to get to, unless there's a risk of dirt getting into the wounds. He's in shock, as is expected, but should snap out of it pretty soon. If you or Morse need me at any point, you know how to call me, and I _do_ mean for anything… You better find this piece of work, Jakes".

"I will".

"If _anything_ happens to that little girl…"

He shook himself out of it.

"Right. Well. Asides from the obvious, was Mrs Laskey alright?"

Jakes frowned.

"Mrs Laskey?"

"The babysitter" He said, "You said she'd been rendered unconscious?"

"Oh! Oh, _no_, no, it wasn't- wasn't her. Nurse Hicks was there instead. But yea, she'll be fine. We have a Uniform outside her hospital room, just in case".

"Good. You'll ring if there's any update?"

"Of course" He promised, and with another nod, the doctor was gone.

* * *

Still frowning, Jakes walked back over to the younger detective who still hadn't moved.

"Morse?"

He blinked.

"Didn't you say Mrs Laskey left hospital a few days ago?"

Unfocused blue eyes raised to meet his, and slowly, ever so slowly, became clear.

"… Mrs Laskey?"

"Yea. If she was released, then why wasn't she minding Abby?"

Morse blinked again, fighting through the fog that seemed to have descended on his brain.

"She… She broke her leg. In the accident. It… It still needs a few days to fully heal".

"Well, she picked a good time for it" He snorted, "At least Hicks is young and healthy. Can shake off the drugs quicker".

But Morse wasn't listening anymore.

Instead, he was staring with a rapidly sharpening gaze at the evidence board.

More specifically, at the empty portion they had left for their missing eight victim.

Jakes quickly stepped back as the younger man suddenly stood and made his way through the chaotic station.

"Morse?"

By now, Thursday had noticed his bagman's movements, and gave a questioning look to Jakes, who shrugged.

They both cautiously followed.

"Morse?" He repeated, stopping in front of the collection of photographs.

"… Queen Elizabeth".

"What about her?"

"She was Elizabeth of York's mother. And if Abby's the princess, then…"

"Then… we're looking for Abigail's mother?"

"Or the equivalent of it, anyway".

Jakes flashed back to their car conversation only days before.

_She never knew her mother, and Mrs Laskey is the closest thing she has to one._

His eyes widened.

"_Mrs Laskey_".

Morse turned back to them with a grim expression.

"Mrs _Elizabeth_ Laskey".

* * *

"So, let me get this straight… The babysitter, _Abigail's_ babysitter, she's our Queen Elizabeth?" Bright clarified.

"Yes sir" Morse replied, "It all fits. Queen Elizabeth was Elizabeth of York's mother. She was indisposed early on in the play so Richard could get to her daughter. He requested she attend dinner with him, holding the Queen's life at stake".

"You believe the car accident _wasn't_ an accident, then?"

"Mrs Laskey told me herself that she thought he purposely hit her. She said it was a man driving, with fair hair and dark eyes. The car had been parked only a few minutes before, and then suddenly appeared as she was crossing the road".

"Lying in wait" Thursday said darkly, "That bastard".

"But why back then?" Strange chimed in, "Why not _now?_ I mean, that was a good few weeks ago, matey, wouldn't it have better to wait?"

Morse slowly nodded, "In theory, yes. Gull took a big chance hitting her when he did; she could have recovered a few days ago and returned to Abby… But on the other hand-"

"-if he _did _hit her any more recently, there was an even bigger chance of you finding out the truth" Jakes finished, "Which would mean protective custody for you and Abby, and no one left to play his game".

"Exactly".

"Where is she now?" Bright asked, "This- This Mrs Laskey?"

"At home. She lives in the same block as I do, and I've already sent an officer over just in case Gull comes back".

"Which he won't".

Morse grimaced but said nothing.

"Right. Nice work, detective" Bright said, "However it _is_ the last you'll be doing for a while".

"_Sir-_"

"No arguments, Morse. You're close to this, _too_ close. I know she's your daughter and I know you want her back safe, but as a result, your judgement is impaired and we can't take any risks right now. Desk duty until further notice. Understand?"

He muttered something not _particularly_ kind under his breath.

"_Understand?_"

"… Yes sir".

"Good" Bright straightened up, "Sergeant Jakes, keep an eye on him, won't you? Don't let him do anything… _stupid_".

* * *

They worked through the entire night, making phone calls, sending letters and faxes, and examining maps of Oxford for anything that could give them a clue as to where Gull had taken her.

They still had nothing.

Morse remained at his desk, strangely obedient, and Jakes was quick to follow whenever he left to get tea or paperwork. As strange as it was, he didn't trust this rule-abiding version of the risk-taking detective, and he kept expecting him to try and give him the slip every time he stood.

By morning, they were all exhausted and still no closer to figuring out a damn thing.

Jakes yawned and stretched in his seat, shoulders cracking painfully from being hunched over a desk for so long.

Glancing over, he found Morse in a similar state of exhaustion, early morning sunlight dancing across his hair like a flame, and worried eyes slowly drooping shut. He knew it'd be pointless in telling him to go home, and he didn't want to be a hypocrite anyway.

Turning back to the file in front of him, a list of Gull's known previous addresses, he jumped as a phone suddenly gave a loud shrill.

"Morse".

He looked over at the younger man again, watching as his frown smoothened out into a curiously blank expression, phone held tightly to his ear.

"Yes… I understand… I know, I- … Okay".

He slowly hung up.

And then stood.

Jakes quickly got to his feet as well, and Morse gave him and exasperated look.

"Boss's orders" He shrugged, "Who was that?"

They left the office.

"Who was what?"

"On the phone" He expanded, "Who rang?"

They took a sharp right and began to descend an old staircase.

"Just Uniform checking in" He said, "Requested a file".

"From the_ evidence locker?_" He asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

Morse shrugged, "Wanted to double check something, I guess. You don't have to come".

"Of course I do… Bright's orders aside, I want to".

He paused at that, giving him a curious look, before disappearing inside the dusty old room.

Jakes quickly followed, immediately being enveloped in darkness as the door shut closed behind him. There was only one window in the evidence room, a small pane of glass about a foot down from the ceiling, but it was so dirt covered that it hardly let in any light at all.

"Morse?" He asked, hand fumbling along the wall, "Dammit, where the hell's that switch…"

He heard movement behind him and quickly turned.

"_Morse?_"

There was a flash of blue eyes in the dim light.

"I… I'm sorry".

Jakes frowned.

_What on earth did he mean by-_

A piercing pain struck the side of his forehead, and he staggered back, collapsing against the metal shelving behind him.

"_What're you-_"

There was a scuffle, another bang, and then-

_Nothing._


	21. Twenty One

**Twenty One**

The rest of the world was slowly waking up but Morse gritted his teeth and continued running.

He cursed himself, Jakes for following him, Thursday for being so bloody overprotective, and most of all the maniac who was the source of all this trouble.

The maniac who currently had his daughter.

The ringing phone had startled him, and it was pure exhaustion that had prevented him from outwardly reacting when he heard his terrified 5-year-old's whispered "… Daddy?"

Before he could answer, however, a different voice had replaced Abby's.

"_Do you know who this is detective? Answer yes or no"._

"… _Yes"._

"_Make any move to alert your fellow officers, and I'll shoot the girl. Understand?"_

_He swallowed thickly._

"_I understand"._

"_Good. Now so, I think you and I are overdue a little chat. There's a small village a few miles west of you, and an abandoned cottage just outside it. You know the place" He said, "If you bring anyone, tell anyone, or even mention that this phone call ever took place… well, I believe the implied threat here involves a gun and your daughter"._

"_I know, I-"_

"_No, Morse, you don't know" He interrupted, "Because I will make her death as slow and as agonising as I plan to make yours… So, do yourself and the brat a favour, and for once in your life, obey. Okay?"_

"… _Okay"._

"_You have one hour"._

Which led him to bringing the man he might actually love down old rickety stairs to the least used part of the station where he'd picked up an abandoned floor brush and knocked him unconscious.

It was Peter's health on the line, but it was Abby's _life_.

He didn't have any other choice.

Which, of course, did absolutely _nothing_ to dissuade the guilt he felt turning his back on the unconscious man sprawled against metal shelving, and making his way down to the small single window in the room. It didn't have a latch, of course, but there were other ways of opening it.

The bandages around his knuckles had protected his hands from the worst of the broken glass, but the way two fingers on his left hand were still smarting, meant he probably caused them further damage.

Max would be furious.

If he ever saw Max again.

Or Peter. Or Thursday. Or Strange, or Monica, or Mrs Laskey, or even bloody _Bright_ or-

Morse shook his head and continued running, feet loud against the pavement and jacket long since removed and tied haphazardly around his waist.

Gull had given him one hour and taking a car would be too suspicious. The jag didn't exactly blend in, and if the mass murderer decided that it was a glaring red light then he could-

Well.

He didn't want to know.

* * *

It was 51 agonizing minutes before he reached what he hoped to _god_ was the right place.

Rigsby's cottage had long since been locked up, and police tape fluttered off the fence post as he pushed the gate open. It was just as beautiful as it'd been the last time he'd been here, but now that beauty was darkened, _tainted_, almost, from all the death and destruction that the house had brought.

The front door was locked, and he felt a brief stab of panic.

What if he was wrong? What if this was the wrong place? What if he had just wasted his _time_ and _effort_ and god damn _breath_ trying to reach a place _that didn't even exist-_

Morse forced himself to stop.

The door was locked.

Same as last time, then.

Making his way around the side of the house, he climbed the fence and landed in the well-trodden briars of the back garden. Someone had been through here, and recently too.

The back door opened immediately.

He thought he smelt blood.

Memories were a terrible thing.

This time, he didn't bother unlocking the front door, and instead headed straight for the kitchen, just as scared as he'd been the first time around.

Taking a deep breath, he willed his racing heart to slow, put back on his jacket, and tried to look somewhat confident.

Then he reached up, and pushed open the kitchen door.

* * *

The first thing he saw, was Abby. She was sitting directly opposite him, tears in her wide eyes and clothes somewhat rumbled, but otherwise seemingly unharmed.

Second, with a gun casually lying on the table between them, was Mason Gull. Prison had not been kind to him; his fair hair was lacklustre and the off-white shirt swamping his too-thin frame.

The third thing he noticed, was the huge assortment of food laid out across the entire table.

_Richard and Elizabeth and a feast fit for royalty._

"Ah, Morse! How good of you to join us!"

Gull greeted him like an old friend, a wide but somewhat manic smile in place.

"Won't you have a seat?"

"I did as you asked" He replied, forcing himself to remain calm, "I'm here, I'm alone… and _I'm_ who you want. Let her go".

He frowned, "Are you sure you won't sit?"

"I will once you release Abby".

He sighed and picked up gun, and Morse took a quick step forward.

"Ah, ah, ah!"

The weapon was levelled evenly at his head.

"No further until I know for certain that you're alone".

"Do you honestly think I'd risk my own daughter?!"

"_I_ would".

They stared at one another, eyes like earth and air, both daring the other to make the next move, and it took an agonizing five minutes before Gull slowly lowered the gun.

"Well, I doubt even that _Superintendent_ of yours would wait this long with no word. I guess you really did come alone".

"I upheld my end of the bargain, now it's time for you to complete yours".

He seemed to think for a minute, before letting out a dramatic sigh, "Oh, alright, since you've played the game and all… Go on, _brat_, say your goodbyes".

* * *

Abby jumped up in a flash and ran over to him.

Morse immediately knelt down and grabbed her, holding her close as the tears overflowed and he buried his face in her hair.

"D-Daddy I- I didn't- He- _He_\- And Mon-"

He quickly shushed her.

"It's okay, Abby, everything's going to okay, _I promise._ But I need you to do something for me, and it's _important_, Abby, it's _so_ important, I just-"

He reluctantly pulled back and held her arms in a tight grip.

She was crying openly now, tears staining flushed cheeks, hair in disarray but only one bruise that he could see marring her skin.

It was one bruise too many.

"Abby, listen to me. In a minute, I'm going to tell you to run, and you're going to leave through that door and I'm going to stay here but you are _not_ to look back-"

"But-"

"_No!_" He snapped, "_Listen to me!_ You are going to leave and I'm not, and that's _it!_ You are going to run and you are going to _keep_ running until you find a village or town or some _bloody_ place that has a phone, okay? Then you're going to ring the station, and you're going to ask for Mr Peter, and _you will not move_ until he gets there. _Do you understand?!_"

She quickly nodded.

From behind her, Gull stiffly began to get up.

"I love you, okay?" He continued hurriedly, "I love you so _so_ much and- and none of this is your fault. I need you to remember that. _None_ of this happened because of you, it was all because of _me_ and _my_ job and- and that's _it_. Okay? _I love you_".

She was sobbing now, great heaving tremors that racked her frame and Morse didn't think he could hate anyone as much as he hated himself in that moment.

Placing one last kiss on her forehead, he forced himself to stand, and quickly shoved her behind him, closer to the kitchen door. Gull was staring at them with a sick twisted look of curiosity on his face.

"You'll let her go?"

"I'm a man of my word".

"Abby?"

"D-Daddy?"

"… _Run_".

* * *

"-akes! _Jakes!_ Dammit, matey, _come_ _on!_ _JAKES!_"

He groaned and immediately raised a hand to his head, feeling something sticky at his hairline.

"_There_ you are, matey, now take it easy".

He opened his eyes only to immediately shut them again as the bright light pierced him.

"… Stra'ge?"

Slowly blinking, the mass of navy and blue in front of him blurred.

"I'm here, Sarge. Thursday's gone to call the doctor".

The meaningless colours began to merge into one.

"Wha'… Where… What happened?"

He grimaced.

"Strange? What- What _happened?_ Where's…"

And then he realised.

"_Where's Morse?_"

Jakes struggled to sit up but was quickly held down by stronger hands.

"_Woah_ there, matey! You've taken quite a knock to the head and need to stay down a while, alright? At least till DeBryn gets here".

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear".

* * *

Jakes frowned as the pathologist stepped in, followed closely by an agitated looking Inspector.

And Thursday only ever got really agitated when a certain detective did something really stupid.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

Thursday remained silent, and Strange avoided his gaze.

"From what I've been told, Sergeant" DeBryn answered, "It would appear so, yes. But let's sort out that head wound first, hmm?"

It was only then that he realised the stickiness on his face and hand was blood, and it all came back in a flash.

"That little _bastard!_"

The darkness, the stumbling, the blunt instrument.

"He hit me with a fucking _broom_ handle!"

They stared at him.

Strange snorted.

DeBryn bit back a smile and knelt down next to him, handing over what looked like an old tea towel.

"Press that to your head while I get a bandage ready".

He did as told, mourning the loss of a good shirt as he caught sight of more red on his once-white collar.

"You remember what happened to you then?"

"_Morse_" He bit out, "He got a- a phone call, looked shaken up afterwards so I asked him about it. Said it was Uniform, wanting him to check something down here. I followed, he shut the door behind us, and then…"

"_Bang_" DeBryn finished, with somewhat morose humour, "The brush handle, you said? It left quite a mark".

He winced as the towel was removed and gloved hands took its place.

"He hit me twice" He explained, "I think. At least twice, anyway. Then I fell and… that's it. How long was I out?"

"When did he get that phone call?" Thursday asked.

"About six?"

"Well it's eight, now".

Strange stood and made his way through the rest of the room.

"He's definitely gone, then?"

"It was Gull who rang him. I'd bet money on it. He probably set up a time and place to meet, Morse agreed, and then all that was left to do was to shake off his babysitter".

"Bodyguard" Thursday half-heartedly correctly, still standing at the door, "That bloody _fool_".

"What's new?" DeBryn quipped tapping down a strip of gauze, "I didn't think there were any doors out down here though".

"There aren't" Strange called from the back of the evidence room, "There's just this broken window".

Thursday nodded, still grim, "I'll inform Bright".

Jakes watched him go, before turning back to the doctor, "Help me up?"

* * *

The trio stood in front of the smashed window, glass littered on the concrete floor both inside and out. The remaining frame had a few jagged pieces still attached, but thankfully none were dipped in blood. It would be a tight squeeze for any man, and the last thing they needed was Morse somehow puncturing a vital artery while escaping.

"He's lucky he's so bloody skinny" Strange commented, his own shoulders comically large in comparison.

"Luck, I'm afraid, has nothing to do with it" DeBryn replied, "When an animal's young is threatened, said animal is capable of _incredible_ things".

"You calling Morse an animal, doc?"

"Aren't we all, at our base level?"

Jakes shook his head, and then immediately regretted the action.

"This is getting too deep for me. I'm going back to work".

"You're doing _no_ such thing! A head wound is _not_ to be messed with sergeant, and right now you need to _rest_".

"While Morse and Abby are still out there?" He shot back, "In that- that _lunatics_ hands?!"

DeBryn pursed his lips but said nothing, knowing but not liking the fact he'd lost the battle.

The fact that he also would lose the battle, where Jakes' two most loved people were concerned.

"Desk duty, then" He compromised, "No running about for the rest of the week, at least. You'll do neither of them any good with a concussion. Understood?"

* * *

The day, if possible, dragged on even longer than the previous night.

Jakes couldn't concentrate, not with a pounding headache, blood-stained clothes, and an empty desk where his partner should have been sitting.

He couldn't ever remember feeling this stiff.

He couldn't ever remember feeling this tired.

… He couldn't ever remember feeling this _helpless_.

Morse had gotten the phone call at 6am, Strange had found Jakes' unconscious form after a long search at 8am, and it was now just after lunch.

That gave him approximately five hours of no Morse, no Abby, and no Gull.

_Just where the hell had that psychopath taken them?!_

Carefully putting his head down on his desk, Jakes groaned and willed himself not to fall asleep.

Missing people aside, sleeping with a concussion was so not good for him, and the last thing he needed was giving DeBryn an excuse to order Thursday to bench him.

Not that he thought the Inspector would.

Not now, after their 'heart to heart' talk in the car and the revelation of his and Morse's relationship and his somewhat pathetic blurting of maybe being in love with him.

The man would never be that cruel.

Around him, the hustle and bustle of the office continued, men and women alike working overtime to try and find out where the hell their missing persons were. Despite half the precinct hating Morse and the other half intimidated by him, he was still one of theirs, and still a bloody brilliant copper no matter his personality. That, combined with a missing five-year-old blue-eyed princess had everyone giving it their all.

"_JAKES!_"

He jumped, head snapping up and then reeling and his vision swimming and the stale coffee and day-old bagel in his stomach threatening to make a reappearance.

Taking a few deep breaths, he looked back up to find Strange frantically gesturing for him to hurry.

"The _phone!_"

"The phone?" He frowned, "What- What _about_ the phone? Who the hell's on the-"

"It's for _you_" He added unnecessarily, "I think- I think it's _Abigail_".


	22. Twenty Two

**Twenty Two**

This was _by far_ the tensest car ride that Jakes had _ever_ been in in his _life_.

Or.

Well.

You know.

After the 'shovel talk drive home' with Thursday, of course.

Abby had been in tears on the phone, babbling almost incoherently about the bad man who had her dad, and trying desperately to describe the place that she was, which, given that she was 5-years-old, pretty much meant a description of trees and clouds and other not-so-useful things.

He'd eventually gotten out of her that it was a payphone she was calling from, using up hard-earned pocket money that he promised he'd pay back, and that there was a bed and breakfast nearby. That, combined with a vague yet familiar description of the area she was in, had Jakes realising her location.

A smart criminal never revisits the scene of the crime.

Luckily for them, Gull was turning out to be more insane than smart.

* * *

And so, it was without no sense of irony that had the four men piling into the black car and racing towards the village he and Morse had questioned only a few weeks before. The payphone that Gull had used himself to call in the anonymous tip, was now _finally_ helping them, as Jakes remembered exactly where it was and gave Strange directions from the passenger seat. In the back, sat a nervous-but-brave-faced Thursday, and a more-than-a-little-miffed Doctor DeBryn. He hadn't been joking about assigning Jakes to desk duty, but given that Abby would only speak to him and no one else, a bit of field work was necessary. So, he decided to come along for the ride and ensure that Jakes didn't collapse. Or so he said.

His hands were shaking, and he clasped them tightly together to try and hide it.

They were almost there, they almost had Abby, and if she could remember where she'd been kept, then they'd soon find her father too.

He tried to ignore the little voice that told him it was too easy.

That little voice sounded suspiciously like Morse.

And Morse was usually right.

* * *

"There!" Thursday exclaimed, suddenly leaning forward in his seat and giving them all a fright.

The streets were busy this time of day, people returning from late lunch, going home early, or taking the afternoon off. But between the dismal mass of bodies, was a glass box. And inside the door, stood a brightly-dressed girl clutching a phone.

Jakes jumped out of the car before it had even stopped moving, ignoring the dizziness and concerned shout from DeBryn, and unceremoniously shoving his way through the crowds to reach her.

When Abby saw him, her blue eyes widened, and a great big heaving sob wracked her frame.

He flung open the door and she met him half way, flinging herself into his arms and sending them both to the cold damp pavement. She began crying in earnest, and he quickly shushed her, whispering soothing words he didn't even hear himself as he rocked back and forth on the ground with the mud-streaked girl half in his lap and half in his arms.

He didn't know if he was trying to calm down Abby, or his own racing heart.

_Christ_, was this was it felt like being a parent? Worrying and nervous and fretting? How the bloody _hell_ did Morse do it?! How did _Thursday_ do it?!

"It's okay, Abby, I'm here, it's okay, we'll get him back, your daddy will be fine, it's okay-"

An endless stream of reassurances tumbled from his lips, true or not, it didn't matter. What mattered, was calming her down and calming himself down and _where on earth were the others?_

It took a good few minutes before Abby could stop crying, and even more before her breathing turned back to normal. Jakes found it equally parts fascinating and _terrifying_ how young children could breathe while wailing and _not_ die from lack of oxygen, and it was an experience that he did _not_ want to repeat.

Carefully pulling back, he met red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.

"You're safe now".

"I know" She hiccupped, "But my daddy isn't".

He awkwardly sat up and she stood, putting them almost eye-level.

Abby shivered, and he frowned, wondering just how far she'd walked to find this payphone.

Shrugging out of his coat, he knelt and wrapped it around her, the ends of it brushing off the ground as it swapped her tiny frame.

"Mr Peters?"

"Yea?"

"You're going to get my daddy back, right?"

Jakes took a deep breath before standing, pausing for a moment as his head spun and not caring of the dirt and damp and now stained his trousers.

"'_Course_ I am, kiddo".

She slowly nodded and shivered again.

"Mr Peters?"

"Yea?"

"... Can I stay with you until we find him?"

He stared at her and she stared back, the tears in her eyes making them almost look like the same colour as her father's.

"Why not?"

She smiled, small and hesitant, and he grinned back before holding out a hand, which she gladly took.

Turning, he found the three other men leaning back against the car a polite distance away. Thursday looked worried but far less tense, DeBryn was simply relieved, and Strange was gaping at him with wide eyes and an open mouth and-

_Oh_.

He'd never gotten around to telling him about him and Morse, had he?

Well, now the cat was _thoroughly_ out of the bag.

Or payphone box.

Whatever.

* * *

Walking over, he tried to keep his embarrassed flushing to a minimum, and instead focused on encouraging Abby to stay in front of him despite her shyness.

He doubted he would ever leave her out of his sight again.

Still nervous around Strange, she refused to look at him, but returned Thursday's small smile readily enough. When she saw DeBryn, however, she grinned, and letting go of Jakes' hand, ran forward to tackle him with a hug.

"_Max!_"

"Hello, Miss Abigail" He replied warmly, reaching down and lifting her with surprising ease, "I hear you've had _quite_ the adventure".

As the five-year-old began rambling about the last few hours, Thursday gave a subtle nod to the side, and Jakes quickly stepped out of earshot with him.

"_Well?!_"

"She's alright" He said simply, "Or, at least as alright as she _can_ be. Cold, wet, needs a change of clothes, but... she seems okay".

"And Morse?"

"Didn't mention him _or_ Gull".

Thursday got a strange gleam in his eye, and looked back at the girl balanced on DeBryn's hip.

"We need to question her".

"We need to get her fed, washed, and dried" Jakes corrected, perhaps a tad too harshly, "The last thing we need is to rescue Morse and then have to explain why his _daughter's_ in _hospital_".

His Inspector took a deep breath and released it slowly, "... I'll bring her back to mine. You and her both. We can swing by flats on the way to pick up a few things, but I want you to stay with Win and me for the time being".

He immediately opened his mouth to protest but got cut off by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"_No_, Jakes. No arguments. Win will be delighted to have you, we have the space, and there's safety in numbers... I've already lost one member of my family today; I don't intend to lose anymore".

* * *

Morse slowly came to with the feeling of being stared at.

Keeping himself still, he carefully regulated his breathing and tried to remember just what the hell happened.

He remembered talking to Abby, telling her to run, and then watching as she left the house and disappeared out onto the road. Then he'd turned, intending to delay Gull on the off-chance he'd decided to re-kidnap her, only to find the man standing a lot closer than before. He'd said something, he couldn't remember what, and then the gun had flashed in the light as it was raised above his head and brought crashing down and-

_Blackness_.

"Playing possum, Morse? I'm surprised".

_Fuck_.

He carefully opened his eyes, adjusting to the dim light before straightening up.

He was sitting on a stained and filthy metal chair, hands tied behind his back and to the chair. Based on the metal clinking he heard as he tested them, he was being trapped by his own standard issue handcuffs. He was also missing his suit jacket and his shoes. In front of him on a similar chair, sat Gull, a familiar gun in one hand and a glass of what looked like whiskey in the other.

"Well, I _do_ like surprising people".

"I know. You surprised me a lot the first time we met. Surprised me this time, too, when I found out you had a daughter" Gull replied, "But I wasn't the only one, was I?"

"Meaning?"

"_Meaning_ dear ol' Fred's missed out on quite a few babysitting hours".

"I did it to _protect_ her!"

"Mmm" He nodded, "And look how well _that_ turned out".

Morse gritted his teeth but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on his surroundings.

* * *

He was somewhere damp and dark, a single lightbulb hanging from the peeling plastered ceiling above him. The ground was concrete, the walls were concrete, and even the door looked like some stone-metal hybrid, with no lock visible on the outside. Asides from their two chairs, there was no other furniture or, _anything_, in the room, including no windows or other doors.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were underground. But Rigsby's cottage didn't have a basement, so unless they'd moved...

He felt his eyes widen.

_Of fucking course_ _they'd moved._

* * *

Gull seemed to realise his thoughts, and grinned, revealing chipped and yellowing teeth.

"I see you noticed your new abode" He gestured carelessly with the gun and Morse flinched, "Yes, _well_, I couldn't have that _brat_ of yours telling the pigs where you were, so as soon as _she_ left... _we_ left".

He swallowed thickly, shoving away the despair of nobody knowing where he was, and instead focusing on the pure relief of Abby genuinely being safe.

They still had to be in Oxford for Gull's game to play out, so there was no telling how long he'd been unconscious for, but hopefully it was long enough for her to have found a phone and rang Peter.

_God_, _Peter_.

If he wasn't irritably damaged from the hitting Morse had given him.

A red-hot flash across his face abruptly and painfully shook him from his thoughts, and a hand automatically rose to touch his smarting cheek, only to be deterred by the handcuffs.

Gull glared, then sighed, and then looked almost apologetic.

"I'm sorry for slapping you, Morse, but I need you to pay attention".

"... _Why?_"

His fingers twitched as if wanting to hit him again, but thankfully the man refrained, and sat the glass down on the floor instead.

"You're my England" He said instead, "My King Edward, my royalty, my... _pièce de résistance,_ if you will".

"Honestly I'd rather not".

This time he took no such measures, and Morse accidently bit his tongue from the force of the blow, mouth filling with coppery-iron tasting resistance.

"I _assure_ you, detective, this is going to be painful enough as it is" Gull said, voice deceptively mild, "There's no point in making it worse for yourself".

He spat blood on his face.

Abruptly standing, Gull seemed to struggle for control over his own actions, before just as suddenly sitting back down again. He carefully, purposefully, tucked the gun into his waistband, before using the corner of his already-grubby shirt to clean his cheek, and then picked back up the glass and downed the alcohol in one go.

"You shouldn't have done that".

Morse grinned, wild and feral, with nothing left to lose.

"I shouldn't do _a lot_ of things. Leaving my child's custody to someone without _informing_ that someone first, is probably top of the list, given recent circumstances... But I don't regret it. Just as I won't regret eventually killing you".

"Yes, you will. Murder changes a person, _Endeavour_".

"You would know".

"I don't think you have it _in_ you" He continued, leaning forward until Morse could smell his repugnant breath, "I don't think you're _capable_ of murder. Everyone you've ever been up against emerged alive".

"They have" He agreed, nodding, "But here's the thing;_ none of them ever threatened_ _my_ _daughter_".

* * *

Gull paused, then took a step back.

"So, _that's_ where the line is. And all along, I thought if I could just _show_ you how- how _brilliant_ it is, how... how _fantastic_ your mind can make you... I should have just killed the brat when I had the chance".

Morse yelled wordlessly and threw himself forward, but the chair remained in place, likely bolted down, and Gull was at least smart enough to stay out of range.

He laughed, "You'll come around to my way thinking, detective, one way or another... After all, who's coming to save you?"

"They'll be looking for me. They're looking right now".

"Perhaps... But you're their _mastermind_, Morse. Do you honestly think _any_ of them would have realised the Shakespearean play connection, if you weren't there?"

"No" He admitted, "Eventually, maybe, when it was too late. But I _was_ there, Gull. And they know _exactly_ what scene we're on".

"_A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!_" He recited dramatically, "The final line before Richard is slain in battle... So who's your Richmond?"

His mind automatically flashed to Peter, kind, caring, _loving_ Peter, with his wit and hair and those small smirks of his and-

Peter would find him.

Peter would be his Richmond.

"_Ah_" Gull said, studying him closely, "So you _do_ have a so-called saviour... Is he planning to kill me, detective?"

"Well, I'd be rather disappointed if he wasn't".

Another slap, this one hard enough to scatter his thoughts and send his head reeling.

"Your policemen may _think_ they know what scene we're on, but I assure you, _they're wrong_" He growled, "It's not the first time I've gone off script".

"... The order" Morse said, once he could feel his face again, "Of the deaths, they were... _skewed_. Practicality over reality".

"Clever boy" He mocked, "_So wise so young, they say, do never live long.._. Richard got one thing right".

Sitting back, he let out a great sigh, "But yes, you'll have to forgive me for going slightly out of order. Time was of the essence, after all, and it's surprisingly _difficult_ to find a man willing to murder two children".

"The princes. We found them on time, they're safe".

"I know. How... _irritating_" He sneered, "But it's just another diversion from Shakespeare, and if _you_ can make changes to the plot, then so can I. Namely, Richard will _win_ this war".

"... And England?"

"_Will burn to the ground_".

"I look forward to it".

Gull snarled and jumped back to his feet, "I've thought about this for a _long_ time, you know. Every single _day_ in prison, the only thing on my mind was _you_".

"I'm flattered".

He spun around, raised the gun, and levelled it at his head. Morse couldn't help but flinch.

Gull laughed, and slowly lowered it.

"Make all the jokes you want, _England_" He said, "But now is the winter of _your_ discontent... And I am determined to prove a villain".


	23. Twenty Three

**Twenty Three**

Morse shivered and continued to count.

Gull had left exactly 57 minutes ago with a promise of returning that night, meaning it was still afternoon, and that, at least, minimized the list of places he could be, factoring in distance and travel time. It was only mildly reassuring, because even if he did figure out where he was, he couldn't exactly ring up Thursday or Peter to tell them, now could he?

So instead, he waited, and counted down the minutes until an entire hour had passed, ensuring that Gull really had been true to his word and left.

There were cameras in the room, or none that he could see anyway, and he doubted that the man had enough time or sanity left to expertly hide any recording devices.

Which meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Once he got out of this chair, of course.

* * *

Finally reaching the 60-minute mark, and being somewhat confident that he had at least two or three hours before Gull returned, he pulled on the handcuffs to see if there was any give in them at all.

There wasn't.

Morse swore.

His pockets had been emptied, meaning he didn't have the key, and if he couldn't get the cuffs off of his hands, then he'd just have to get his hands out of the cuffs.

But there was only way of doing that.

And it wasn't exactly fun.

Thankfully Gull had never been on the giving side of handcuffs, and so he hadn't secured them tight enough to guarantee security. The general rule was leaving them loose enough to fit one finger between the handcuff and the person's wrist. That way, they couldn't slide out their hands, but nor did it cause chafing or pain. Gull had left about two, two and half fingers width, and hadn't turned his hands the correct direction either. There was a reason that the prisoner's wrists had to face each other, after all, and the ex-prisoner had just made it a hell of a lot easier for him by failing to do so.

If only dislocating a thumb actually worked like it did in books.

Leaning back to give more room, he awkwardly reached for the left cuff with his right hand and began shoving it down while twisting his wrist. The metal got as far as his thumb before biting into his skin, and his pressed his thumb against his palm to try and force the cuff over his hand. It was slow going and it was painful and cut into his skin hard enough to draw blood.

On the plus side, Morse reasoned, all the while cursing loudly and plentifully, it would dampen his skin and made it easier for the cuffs to slide off.

It took him half an hour to get his left hand free, fingers slick with blood that he tried his best not to look at. He slowly brought his arms around in front of him, stiff and sore from being forced back unnaturally for so long. The handcuffs dangled off of right arm, but he decided to leave them be for the time being. The cuts on his knuckles had reopened during the process, and the two fingers he'd injured breaking the window back at the station still stung. Best to leave his right hand uninjured then, even if it did mean confining his wrist in his own metal for the time being.

Cautiously standing, he waited for the dizziness to pass before making his way over to the door. Just as he'd feared, it was locked. And from the other side, too, most likely with a bolt given the lack of a lock on his side.

Refusing to let his hope dissipate, he walked over to the chair Gull had been sitting on. That one was bolted down as well, obviously, which is why it'd been left there, but what the maniac _had_ failed to remove, was the empty glass on the floor.

After he'd downed the whiskey and ranted, Gull had placed the glass next to the seat and then forgot about it when he left. Now, Morse picked it up, weighing it for a moment in his hands, before spinning around and flinging it at the wall.

It smashed, and he remained perfectly still to listen for any incoming footsteps, just in case.

There were none.

Quickly going over, mindful of the broken glass beneath his shoeless feet, he found the longest shard and picked it up.

It weighted hardly anything in his hand, but cut his skin with the slighted of pressure.

It'd have to do.

Looking around, he made sure he hadn't missed anything, but the room was just as empty as it'd been when he first woke up. The air was damp and musty, further proving his underground theory, and there were no windows or vents or even a hole in the concrete wall to speak of.

Sitting back down, he put his hands behind his back again and made sure he looked like he was still trapped. The only difference, was the feeble weapon he clutched in his hands, grip tight enough to draw blood.

For now, he'd just have to wait.

* * *

Jakes threw whatever clothes were in the top drawer of his dresser into a bag, barely looking at what he was grabbing. Thursday had been adamant in his decision for him and Abby to stay with him for the time being, and they'd already packed a bag of Abby's things at the flat. It'd felt weird, being there without Morse, and he kept expecting to hear a witty comment or opera music at any moment.

There was only silence.

Abby had obviously felt it too, and stuck close to him while he packed whatever clothes and books she pointed at. Thursday had stood guard, Strange dropping DeBryn back to his office before returning to collect them.

Which led him to here, now, picking up random shirts and ties and socks that didn't match and wondering if he should have collected a few of Morse's things too, for when they found him.

When. Not if.

He was adamant of that.

Abby had fallen asleep in his arms on the drive to Morse's place, and was likely after drifting off again back in the car with Thursday, but once they got her fed and dried, she would hopefully have no problem remembering where Gull had taken her to wait for Morse. Once she told them, they'd leave her with Win and maybe Joan, too, if she was around, and then he and Thursday and Strange would burst in and kill Gull and save Morse and everything would be made right again.

He hoped.

* * *

Sliding into the backseat, Abby woke up just enough to latch herself onto his side again before returning to dreamland. Strange continued to drive until they reached Thursday's, and then helped bringing in the bags while he carried the sleeping child, still wrapped up in his coat. Win met them by the front door and immediately ushered them inside to the living room while she went upstairs to prepare Sam's old room.

Collapsing on the couch with a sigh, he couldn't help but close his eyes and lean his head back to rest, if only for a moment.

_Christ_, what a day.

Hearing shuffling, Jakes looked back up, only to Strange standing awkwardly by the door.

He raised an eyebrow.

The younger mand cleared his throat.

"I was just, uh…"

He trailed off, before starting again.

"I was wondering, matey, about… about you and Morse".

"What about it?" He challenged, feeling strangely defensive with the child in his arms.

"Nothing! I just… you and _Morse?_"

And despite everything, he couldn't help but laugh.

Quiet and somewhat hysterically, but a laugh all the same.

"Yea" Jakes replied, "I know".

"I just… I mean, were you… were you ever going to… I don't know, tell me? Maybe?" He half-asked, "The Inspector already knew, and- and Doctor DeBryn, too, by the sounds of it so… so were you?"

Strange looked genuinely _hurt_, and the sergeant realised that he thought he'd been purposely left out of the loop.

"We were" He replied honestly, "After the case had been solved, we were… we were going to tell everyone. Or, the people who mattered, at least".

He nodded, but didn't seem any less upset, though he tried to hide it.

"I didn't tell them, you know".

"What?"

"Thursday and DeBryn" Jakes explained, feeling like he owed the man an explanation, if only for Morse's sake, "I didn't tell them. Morse didn't either. They figured it out, and we didn't want to lie… I meant what I said, Strange. We weren't going to tell anyone until Gull had been caught".

He immediately looked relieved, "Okay. Good… I mean, not good, with Gull and the case and everything but good with you, matey, and Morse and Abigail, I guess, but not like-"

"Thanks".

He looked even more relieved to have his rambling cut off.

"You're welcome".

* * *

Under Win's watchful eye, Jakes scoffed down not one, not two, but three sandwiches, and more cups of tea than he'd have liked. It wasn't as if he was the one who'd been held captive by a maniac, but to Win, it apparently made no difference.

That, and the fact she'd decided he was family now due to his 'connection' to Abby and Morse.

If Jakes didn't know any better, he'd say she almost _approved_.

Abby slept right through lunch, and they decided to let her wake at her own pace, giving her brain time to sort through everything that had happened. Hopefully, it would help her remember things better as well. Thursday said he'd sent Uniform out to the area they'd found her, to go through the village asking questions and investigating anything that looked suspicious, but so far they'd found nothing, and as much as Jakes loathed to admit it, Abby's memories may be the only thing they had to go on.

So, he settled in for the evening, still in the same place on the couch with a sleeping five-year-old on top of him, and eventually, he found himself drifting off too.

* * *

Jakes woke to the sound of laughter.

Slowly opening his eyes, he found that the sun had moved from the white ceiling to the now-orange walls. It was late evening, then, at least two hours since he'd gotten here.

Hearing more laughter, he turned, and found Abby kneeling on the floor in clean clothes with a board game in front of her. She was playing against Joan.

"Looks like sleeping beauty's finally woken up".

Abby giggled and Jakes scowled, stretching and yawning and cursing his now-stiff back.

"What time is it?"

"Just after five" She answered, "Dad's gone back to the station with Jim. Said he'd leave you here to walk off that head injury of yours".

His hand automatically rose to the bandage on his forehead.

Traitor.

Turning his gaze to Abby, he returned her smile easily, "And when did you wake up, kiddo?"

"'Bout an hour ago" She replied, "I had a bath and toast and then Joanie came home".

"And I've been here ever since" She finished, flashing Jakes' a smirk, "At the mercy of this diabolical five year old".

"_Hey!_" She protested, "You're the one who suggested a trivia game!"

"And to think I actually believed I had a chance".

* * *

Jakes continued to smile at the pair, sitting up to try and repair the wrinkles in his jacket. In doing so, his hands brushed against something in his pocket, and he realised it was a box of cigarettes.

God, when was the last time he had a smoke?

Between Gull, getting hit over the head, and finding Abby again, nicotine cravings had been the last thing on his mind.

Now, however…

He took out the pack and shook them to get Joan's attention.

He gestured at the sliding door, "Mind if I-?"

"Oh, no, go right ahead" She replied, "Dad won't be home for a small while yet, and mum's making dinner".

Muttering a quick thanks, he stepped outside and shut the door after him before lighting up.

The first draw of the cigarette was like coming home, and he felt some of the nerves and worries from the last few hours fall away. Closing his eyes, he breathed out the smoke and did his best to settle down.

They had Abby.

Now they just needed to find Morse.

And hopefully Gull, but, you know, mostly Morse.

* * *

He glanced back as he heard the door reopen, and watched as Joan stepped out, arms wrapped around herself in the evening chill.

"I got her hooked to the radio" She said, nodding back at the glass door where Abby was leaning over the metal box, "You alright?"

"As alright as I can be, I suppose. Did your father-?"

"Explain anything at all to me?" She asked, smirking, "Not much. We've a hat stand rule, you see".

He nodded, and turned back to stare up at the sky.

Light was fading fast, and he hoped that Morse was inside, wherever he was.

Then again, knowing Gull…

"Morse is missing".

"That much I gathered. Jim said it's an old arrest of his".

"Yea. Something like that".

He offered her a cigarette, but she declined.

"Abby was telling me all about you, you know".

"Yea?" He kept his voice deceptively light, "What did she say?"

"Oh, not much, just random things. Going to the park, minding her sometimes, reading her stories… and also about your _sleepovers_ with Morse".

He choked on the smoke.

Joan grinned teasingly.

"Tell me, Sergeant, did you stay in his bed or in a sleeping bag?"

"Miss Thur-"

"Oh, we're _well_ past that".

"… Joan, then" He continued, "I'm- I'm not, I mean I am, but it's not- it's, Morse we're- we're-"

"Together?"

"… Yea".

She slowly nodded, "Does dad know?"

"He found out yesterday. Had a _lovely_ discussion about it too".

"Now you realise why _I_ don't bring anyone home".

"It… wasn't fun, no".

"Yes, well, neither will being _literally_ emasculated by me if you _ever_ hurt him or Abigail".

Jakes froze.

Joan continued to smile at him pleasantly.

"Are we on the same page?"

"… _Definitely_".

"Good. Now so, come on, dinner should be ready soon, and dad will want to talk to you and Abigail afterwards".


	24. Twenty Four

**Twenty Four**

Morse groaned as he slowly, reluctantly, regained consciousness.

_Well that was a disaster._

Around him, there was only silence, and he thanked whatever deity out there that Gull was no longer in the room.

He'd waited with his meagre glass weapon as planned, and when Gull had returned, he taunted him to bring him closer. It had resulted in more than a few slaps and threats, but eventually it had worked, and he'd lunged at man, taking him by surprise and knocking them both to the floor. They rolled and hit and kicked each other, struggling for the upper hand, and Morse had only just managed to send the sharp shard through his upper leg before Gull got a firm grip on his gun and-

_Well_.

There was a reason his leg was aching.

* * *

Morse blinked, the single light bulb above flickering and casting strange shadows against the wall.

His head ached, and there was a sticky tackiness matting his hair and coating the side of his face. His arms felt scratched and were tied behind him again, this time with zip ties, the handcuffs still dangling loosely off of his right wrist. The metal chair was as cold and unforgiving as ever, the chair opposite was empty and blood stained, which probably accounted for his pounding head. The glass shards had been cleared up.

There was a faint ringing in his ears, and he found it difficult to concentrate on anything for too long. He was also cold, colder than before, and he shivered almost constantly. Slowly looking down, he found pale skin also bruised and blood stained, thought whether that was from the head injury or something else, he wasn't sure. His shirt was now haphazardly wrapped around dust covered black trousers, half way between knee and hip, with a steadily increasing red blotch in the middle of what was once white fabric.

_Huh_.

Morse blinked again, eyes refusing to focus on what they were seeing.

He'd been shot.

Gull had shot him.

He was…

He was _bleeding_.

A wave of nausea crashed over him, and he half choked and forced himself to look away, to focus on the plain concrete walls and weird shadows instead.

He'd been shot.

That was… okay.

That was fine. It was all _fine_. Everything was-

It wasn't the first time, after all.

Same leg, too.

This was- This was okay.

He tried to rationalise his spinning thoughts, and distantly wondered if he was concussed.

_Because that would explain a lot._

Either way, he was definitely injured, and definitely trapped, and definitely- definitely hopeless.

No. Not _hopeless_. Hopeless was- That was- It- It was too _strong_ a word.

He had Peter looking for him, after all, and Thursday and Strange and probably Bright, too. And Abby was being looking after, and Monica would fully recover, and Mrs Laskey was almost on her feet again.

So, no. He wasn't hopeless, he was just… _waiting_.

Waiting for rescue or waiting for death, it didn't matter.

Abby was safe and soon he'd be too, or else he'd be somewhere else where things like that didn't matter.

Morse frowned.

He was almost _positive_ that Housman had some sort of quote for this...

Max would know.

He'd have to ask, next time he saw him.

* * *

From outside, came a bang of a metal door and then heavy footsteps.

He distantly wondered what time it was.

The footsteps got closer and closer, before pausing outside his concrete cell. Then there was a clanging of keys, the scrape of one being forcibly shoved into a lock, and the inevitable swearing as their holder realised it didn't fit. Morse clanging, more scraping, and then a screech of metal.

The door was shoved open, and Morse just barely caught a glimpse of more concrete and old water pipes in the corridor outside, before it was slammed shut again.

Gull stood there, red faced, panting, strangely _cheery_ looking.

_Then again_, he thought, _there isn't must difference between ecstasy and insanity._

His gaze drifted over the older man, pleased to see evidence of cuts and scratches that his own hands had made before he'd lost the battle.

But not the war. Not yet.

* * *

On Gull's right thigh, the threadbare trousers had been ripped, and he could see bandages and medical tape covering the skin inside.

At least his broken glass had caused some damage.

"Noticed it, have you?"

He blinked and looked back up at the murderer.

Gull grinned, almost triumphantly, and gestured at both their bleeding legs.

"We match".

Shuffling over, with an obvious limp, he sat down in the chair across from him. The gun wasn't anywhere in site.

"You know, Morse" He began, "I have to say, I'm actually _glad_ you rebelled when you did".

_Rebelled_.

Like he was a teenager caught swapping vodka for water.

"Because it showed me something, you know? It showed me that you were telling the truth, earlier, when you said you wanted to kill me. That you would kill me. And you know what that means?"

"You're goin' to die soon?"

His grin fell.

"_No_, detective. Quite the opposite, in fact".

Leaning forwards, he placed both elbows on his knees.

"It means that you actually are capable of killing. Which is good. Which is so, _so_ good, Endeavour, because that means that we're more alike that you realise. More alike than even _I_ had realised. You can kill".

"_You_. I can kill _you_".

"You can kill _anyone_" He snapped, "Either you're capable of murder or you're not, Morse. And you very much are. It's just up to me to… well… get you there, I suppose".

Leaning back, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a switch blade. Flipping it open, he tilted the knife until the metal caught the light and shone.

Gull smirked, and turned back to him.

"I have no doubt now, that we were meant to be. I've killed people, Morse, more people than you will ever know. And now that I know you can, as well, I'm going to train you. Make you _perfect_. Almost as perfect as we'll be together, eventually".

Morse opened his mouth to retaliate, to them him _no, you're crazy, I'll never kill in cold blood,_ but before he could speak, that short but sharp blade was jerked forward to rest perilously against his throat.

"Ah, ah, ah" Gull warned, "There's no time for protesting, not anymore. Not when I know what you're capable of… Richard just wanted to rule England, after all. So, don't you think it's about time that _I_ ruled _you?_"

The blade dug into his neck as he swallowed.

"You just need a little… _discipline_, I think. Like training a dog. If you disobey me, you get hurt. But if you do what I tell you to, you'll get a reward. Eventually you'll come around to my way of thinking. And then Richard will win, and England will win, and we'll all live happily ever after".

Gull slowly, methodically, dragged the point of the knife down his chest, leaving a thin line of blood from neck to waist.

"I mean, if we're going to change the story, Endeavour, we might as well make it a good one".

* * *

Dinner with the Thursday's was a quiet affair.

Both detectives were lost in their own head thinking about the case, Win and Joan were too busy worrying about Morse, and Abby was half asleep even as she slowly raised a forkful of mashed potatoes to her mouth.

Afterwards, Win brought tea and biscuits into the living room, and Thursday and Jakes sat on the couch, Abby curling up in the latter's lap. It didn't take long for the Inspector to write up her side of the story, because as upset as remembering made her, it was more upsetting thinking of leaving her dad alone with that maniac. Once everything was down on paper and Thursday called it into the station, they called it a night, knowing full well that they wouldn't be able to find the missing detective on two days of no sleep.

Jakes spent the night in Sam's old room, Abby curled up against him and whimpering in her sleep, and his own thoughts drifting just as dark places.

The pillow still smelt of Morse, from when he'd last stayed over.

Jakes doubted that Morse had the luxury of such a basic thing now.

Eventually he drifted off, early morning and almost exactly twelve hours since his partner had gone missing.

It wasn't a peaceful night's sleep.

* * *

The next day brought its own troubles, as Abby was adamant that she had to go to the station with them to catch 'the bad man'. It took almost an hour of persuasions and bribes before she left Jakes' go, and although he was just as reluctant to leave her behind, he knew that Win would keep her happy and safe.

The arrived at the station an hour later than usual, and immediately were accosted by Strange and half a dozen Uniform who all had nothing important to report but had to report it anyway.

They poured over the statement Abby had given, and tried to narrow down the house she'd been kept in.

It was small, she'd said, and stood by itself. There was a garden and a back garden and a gate that was locked but had yellow paper stuck to it. She didn't know how long she'd been running before she reached the payphone, but it'd definitely been at least half an hour. She hadn't passed anything else along the way, or if she had, she'd paid no attention to it, and there were no distinguishing landmarks or features that she could remember.

It wasn't exactly a helpful account, but it was certainly better than nothing.

* * *

"And CID have turned up nothing? Uniform too?" Bright asked, as the three men sat in Thursday's office.

"Nothing, sir" He replied, "Abby doesn't know which direction she came from, so it's useless sending out officers canvasing when we don't have the slightest idea of where to look".

"Surely, she couldn't have run more than ten miles?"

He shrugged, "Even so, sir, a ten-mile radius around this village would require more manpower than what we've got".

Bright huffed, and Thursday couldn't help but nod in agreement.

Jakes turned back to Abby's report, hoping, praying, knowing that there had to be something in it that could help.

There were _dozens_ of cottages and farmhouses outside Oxford, after all, if not _hundreds_, and they needed to find something that would narrow it down.

Gardens were common, as were flowers and hedges. There was no surprise that the house had been locked, when it likely that Gull had broken in. There were normal windows and doors, a half falling down fence, and a gate. All of that was commonplace, so-

He stopped.

_The gate._

* * *

Quickly flicking back through the statement, he found the part where she'd described it.

White, non-descript, no defining features… but it had a piece of yellow paper stuck to it.

A long narrow strip of yellow paper, Abby had said, the same colour as her coat.

But paper didn't just stick to wood, not unless it had been nailed in place. But she'd sworn that it hadn't been, that it was just stuck there. She's stared at it as they'd passed because it was such a pretty colour and there was no nail or staple or anything, it was just _stuck_.

But what if it wasn't paper?

What if it was _stuck_ because it was _sticky?_

What if it was… _tape?_

"Jakes?"

He blinked and looked up.

Both Bright and Thursday were staring at him, and based on their frowns, he guessed that they'd been calling him for a while.

"Do you have something?"

He glanced back down at the report.

"… Maybe".

* * *

"Police tape?" Bright asked, somewhat disbelievingly, and he nodded, "Yes sir. It's long, it's yellow, it would have stuck to the gate no problem".

"You believe that Mason Gull is stupid enough to bring them to a crime scene?"

"Not _stupid_ enough, necessarily… But arrogant enough? Brazen enough? _Insane_ enough? Yes. I do".

Thursday leant back in his chair, lighting a pipe with practiced fingers.

"Police tape" He muttered, "If this is right, then we can narrow it down to no more than a dozen buildings. And even fewer that outside Oxford".

"Do any of them have a connection with Gull?" Bright asked, "He does enjoy _connections_, after all".

"None that I know of" Jakes admitted, "A few robberies, burglary, one or two domestics and assault, nothing that has his name on it… But like you said, sir, there needs to be a connection. Everything has a reason, for Gull, everything can be traced back to Richard III, to his game. So there has to be a connection".

The older man gave a wry smile.

"Careful, Sergeant, you're beginning to sound like Morse".

Thursday smothered a laugh by coughing, and Jakes willed his expression to stay blank.

"Collect a few photos" Bright continued, completely oblivious, "Show them to Abigail, see if she recognises them. If she does… report back, and we'll move in".

It didn't escape their notice how he ignored the possibility that she wouldn't.

* * *

Gathering the various crime scene images, Jakes stacked them on his desk in a neat pile before stretching in his chair as he waited for Thursday.

They had no few than fourteen active cases at the moment, ranging from petty theft to attempted murder, and he hoped that Abby wouldn't ask too many questions about the images.

Yawning, he turned and stared at Morse's empty desk.

It was _weird_, him not being there.

He kept expecting that polished accent to speak at any moment, to call out something obvious that they'd been missing, to make some dry quip or quick remark that kept them on their toes, to even just sigh loudly or thud his head against his desk in despair when nothing was linking up.

He didn't like this silence.

Standing, Jakes forced himself to look past the desk, and walked over to the evidence board instead.

_Careful, Sergeant, you're beginning to sound like Morse._

There was something they were missing, there always was, until Morse pointed it out. But this time, the tawny haired detective wasn't here, so it was up to Jakes to fill in both their roles.

_Careful, Sergeant, you're beginning to sound like Morse._

If he were Morse, what would he see?

Jakes trailed his fingertips over the photographs of each of the nine victims. Vickery, Allen, Bannon, Rigsby, and Bradson. The two princes came next, Eddie and Richie. Then, Elizabeth Laskey. And finally, Abigail.

The last four had survived with minimal injuries, and he could only _hope_ that Morse would soon join them.

_Careful, Sergeant, you're beginning to sound like Morse._

Okay. Let's see.

Victim number ten.

Morse.

The England to Gull's Richard.

_If I were a deranged serial killing psychopath with a taste for revenge and Shakespeare, where would I go?_

He looked at the photos from Bannon's flat, the dead man's body lying in bed, then at Allen's trampled rose garden, and the shallow hole they'd found him in beyond. Vickery had still lived with her parents, as did the two children, and Laskey and Bradson were moot points, Abby too. Which just left…

He stared at Sean Rigsby's cottage.

Garden, flower, hedges, fence, gate.

He leant closer to the faded photo and narrowed his eyes.

The _gate_.

It was shown, just at the edge of the image, a part of it cut off completely. But there, on the part he could see, was… _police tape._

* * *

An entire hour later, and they were suited up and ready to storm the place.

Thursday was in front of him, hat still in place and revolver in his hand, while Uniform surrounded the cottage in full tactical gear.

Jakes counted down silently in his head.

One… Two… Three…

"Go! Go! Go!"

Bursting in, he headed straight for the kitchen, knowing that Abby said that's where her dad had found her and where she'd left him before she ran.

He kicked open the door with perhaps a bit more force that necessary, sounds of "Clear!" echoing around him from the rest of the house.

The room was empty.

Jakes kept his guard up and quickly spun around to check behind the door, gun raised and body tense.

Nothing.

He walked the perimeter of the room, opening any cupboard big enough to fit a man, and even checked underneath the table before slowly, almost painfully, lowering his weapon.

Turning to face the window, he took a deep breath and willed himself to remain calm.

So Morse wasn't here, so neither was Gull, _so what?_ They would find him, of course they'd find him, they had to. If not for himself, then at least for Abby. Jakes wouldn't care if Morse _hated_ him after this, so long as he could bring home her dad.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and he jumped, spinning around with the gun half raised to-

Thursday looked back at him, face drawn and eyes grim.

The sudden sight of his world-weary guvnor brought traitorous tears to his eyes and he quickly turned back around so the older man wouldn't see.

"Jakes-"

"It's fine".

"… Peter".

He took another calming breath before turning back.

Fred Thursday looked _old_.

"We'll find him" He said, "I _swear_ to you, Peter, _we'll find him_".

He didn't know if he was trying to convince the sergeant or himself.

* * *

"Sir!"

Both men turned as a young constable burst in.

In his hands, he was holding a small plastic bag.

And in the plastic bag, was a mud-covered button.

"I found it, out by the gate" He explained, "You said there should've been a little girl here and… well, it looks like it's from a little girl's coat, that's all".

Jakes turned to subtly wipe his eyes before clearing his throat and marching over.

"Good work, constable".

The man nodded, somewhat awkwardly, and left.

He held the bag up to the light, noting the bright yellow that matched Abby's coat. The same coat she'd been wearing when they'd found her in that phone box.

"Is it hers?"

"… Yea".

"Good".

Jakes frowned, and looked over at him.

Thursday gave a sort of sad half-smile.

"If it's Abigail's, then now we know for definite that they were here. I know Morse isn't, and that… that nothing will make up for that. But now we have a crime scene. A _definite_ crime scene. And _that_, at least, is something".

Jakes put the bag and the button inside his coat pocket and turned to face the rest of the kitchen.

A crime scene.

Was that what this was?

Just another nameless place where a nameless victim was-

He shook his head, and forced himself to look past all that, to focus on the room like it was a crime scene, like it was just another place, a place where a kidnapping had taken place and anything, anything at all, that he could find would be helpful.

* * *

He'd already glanced in the cabinets, and nothing had stood out. Behind the door had been empty as well. All six chairs were accounted for at the table, and the table itself had abandoned plates half-filled with rotting food.

He distantly remembered Morse saying something about a feast…

But asides from that, the kitchen was a as derelict as the rest of the cottage. The walls were bare, the ceiling just had the one dim light, and the floor was-

Jakes frowned.

The floor was… different _colours?_

"Sir, look at this".

Walking over, he crouched down between the table and the door, noticing where a patch of rusty brown stained the dark linoleum.

Thursday knelt down next to him and pulled out a flashlight.

The brown turned red.

Jakes swallowed thickly.

"… From Rigsby?"

"It's too far from the table for that".

"… Morse?"

The inspector reached out with a barely perceptibly shaking hand and gently tapped the lino before shining the torch on his fingers.

They were bright red.

"It's fresh".

"Morse, then" He confirmed, distant sounding compared to the rushing in his ears.

Thursday slowly stood.

"… I'll call Doctor DeBryn, get him out here. We won't know for definite until… Well. Maybe he'll find something".

Jakes leant back on his heels and watched him leave.

_What the hell was he going to tell Abby?_


	25. Twenty Five

**Twenty Five**

Jakes sighed and flicked through another scene of Morse's battered old _Richard III_ manuscript, trying to find any possible hint as to where he was. It was day three since he'd been taken, and late, too, the evening sun filling the station with a golden light far too warm and gentle for the inner turmoil he was feeling.

_Careful, Sergeant, you're beginning to sound like Morse._

Yea, well, obviously not enough.

Running a hand through his hair, he let his head thud on the table and rested it there for a minute.

He still had a pounding headache thanks to the concussion Morse had given him, though thankfully not as bad as yesterday, but going through Shakespeare with a fine-tooth comb wasn't exactly making it any better.

_Okay_.

Inventory list.

One missing detective, _check_.

One ancient play with a link to his whereabouts, _check_.

One completely confused and somewhat irritated Sergeant going brain dead from trying to find that clue, _triple check._

Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep breath.

What _did_ he know?

Gull had a thing for names, that much was certain, so maybe his new hideout was related to it as well. The play was set in real life locations, being a somewhat amped up version of historical events, after all, and if Morse was England, or the King, in other words, then maybe he was being kept in the same place King Edward was killed?

Flipping through Morse's notebook, he found the page with the list of locations, places haphazardly scrawled in with their victim's names next to them.

King Edward was killed in... the Palace of Westminster.

Jakes groaned.

There was no way Gull had gone that far out of Oxford, and even if he had attempted it, there was no way that he wouldn't have been seen. Morse may have been scrawny, but he was no light weight, and dragging all 5ft 9 of him into one of the most guarded places in England was a bit much for even Gull's standards.

Right then.

Maps of Oxford it was.

* * *

"You planning on leaving at all tonight?"

Jakes startled and looked up.

Thursday leant against the door of the office, coat on and hat in hand.

"Only I know a young lady who'd be very put out if you didn't say goodnight".

He quickly glanced at the clock and swore when he saw the time.

Thursday sighed and straightened up, walking over to see the papers sprawled across his desk.

"What's all this then?"

"Maps" He explained, "Oxford city, the surround area, everything inside county bounds".

"Everything that Gull might have considered holding Morse in" He caught on, dragging up a chair, "Alright then. What have we got?"

"Well, the most accurate choice would be the Palace of Westminster, but for obvious reasons... From what I can find, there's no 'Westminster' anything in Oxford, and the only 'palace' is way out in Woodstock and currently occupied by the Duke of Marlborough".

"Dead end, then".

"Exactly. So, I broadened the search, started considering anything related to 'England', which also came up with nothing. Any variation is also useless. 'Richard' just gives a few jewellery places and the likes... which leaves me with 'Edward'".

"Any results?"

"Too many".

Thursday hummed, shuffling through the maps in front of them until he found one of the inner city.

"Well, I can't imagine that Gull would send us too far. We've road blockades up at every major exit, and that aside, the closer he is to home the more exciting it is for him. This used to be his hunting grounds, after all. You've got the Bodleian, St Michael at the North Gate, Trinity College... My monies on him being close by. Just enough to taunt us with".

Jakes frowned and started circling names, "That _does_ narrow it down, and half of these places can be ruled out due to their business anyway. It'd have to be remote; well, as remote as anywhere in the city can get. And sound is probably a factor as well".

"Somewhere quiet with no people in the middle of Oxford?"

"And with a connection to 'Edward'".

They stared at each other.

Thursday let out a heavy breath, "Fresh start tomorrow?"

"... I don't want to leave him there. I can't".

"_He's_ not the only one you're looking out for right now".

Jakes sighed and recalled Abby's hopeful face the evening before. Being so young, she had no grasp of the concept of work or time needed in cases like these, and every time he returned home without her father, she was reduced to tears.

He couldn't do that again.

_But he had to._

"Fresh start" He agreed, shoving the papers to one side.

* * *

Standing up, he reached for his coat, too tired to even curse as the action knocked a few maps off his desk.

Bending down, he began to pick them up and Thursday turned off the lights.

The soft evening glow had long since turned into a fiery red, the setting sun for once matching the anger he felt himself. It cast long shadows against the walls, and even longer ones on the papers he was holding. Maps of Oxfordshire, Oxford city itself, the buildings and parks and utilities and-

He froze.

"Jakes?"

The utilities.

"Jakes".

The _underground_ utilities.

"Peter!"

He quickly looked up, before jumping to his feet and turning back on the desk lamp, pushing pens and papers aside as he slammed down the utilities network map on top, one name in particular highlighted by the blazing sun.

"King Edward Street!"

"What?"

"_King Edward Street!_" He half-shouted, pointing at it.

Thursday frowned, "But that's mostly retail, shops and the like. It's too busy for Gull to keep Morse there, and last I remember, there's no abandoned building he could keep him in anyway".

"_Above_ ground, yes".

He could pinpoint the exact moment that Thursday realised.

"_The tunnels_".

"There's a whole network underneath Oxford for sewers and electricity and everything, but the tunnels beneath King Edward's Street have been shut for years. They used to be used as bomb shelters, too, which means they're solid concrete-"

"-and if they're solid concrete then he doesn't have to worry about sound reaching the street above" He finished, "... Are you sure?"

"It has direct access to the Bodleian Library" He said simply, "If the name and location doesn't confirm it, then _that_ much does".

It was too late to get permission from Bright, and even if the man was still up, the backup that they needed wasn't. Which meant Jakes had to go back to Thursdays and face Abby's hopeful and then distressed expression again. The news of them possibly finding her dad tomorrow did nothing to cheer her up, because as far as she was concerned, that's what they said every day.

In a way, Jakes mused, she was right.

* * *

He slept fitfully, on and off, just counting down the hours until they could return to the station, and sometime after half past three, he found himself silently creeping downstairs to the dining room table where he'd left the map. If he couldn't sleep, then he might as well plan.

The light was already on.

Slowly pushing open the door, he was met by the sight of his _guvnor_ in a _dressing gown_.

Thursday stared at him.

He stared back, acutely conscious of his _own_ dressing gown.

The old man relit his pipe and gestured at the chair in front of him.

And that was that.

* * *

Thursday called Bright early the next morning, and the Chief's grumbling about the wakeup call was abruptly cut off when they told him why. Win made them breakfast as usual, and Joan joked about with Abby, but there was an obvious tension that hadn't been there before.

Jakes found himself jumping at the slightest bit of noise, his nerves on edge and adrenaline already coursing through his veins. He could barely keep down the plain oatmeal and cup of tea, and found himself rushing to get everything done despite having loads of time.

They had a backup team waiting for them at the station, as well as DeBryn, but they couldn't do anything until they'd explained the plan, which couldn't happen until they told _Bright_ the plan, which couldn't happen until the man got into the station himself.

The waiting was the worst part.

Finally meeting Thursday at the front door, he focused on Abby as he kissed his wife goodbye.

He may be living with the man and technically dating his son and all, but he was still his boss and there were somethings he just _didn't_ _want to see._

Abby was still in her pyjama's, Herbert the giraffe clutched tightly in her hands, and Jakes felt a wave of sympathy for the girl who had already gone through so much at such a young age.

"We'll get him back, you hear me?"

She nodded, somewhat tearfully, then jerked forward and pulled him into a hug.

Surprised, he quickly hugged back.

"You gotta come back too, okay?" She whispered.

_Christ_.

"... I will".

She held him tighter.

"Promise?"

_Double Christ._

"I promise, kiddo" He said, slowly pulling back, "Both of us will be back. Alright?"

"Alright".

He leant forward and kissed her forehead, a strange feeling of dread in his heart.

"I'll see you this evening, okay?"

But dread wasn't quite the right word, he realised, it was too heavy for that, too... _guilty_, almost.

He hugged her again and then reluctantly let go, heading for the car where Thursday was already waiting.

But guilty wasn't right either, it was more like... _anticipation_, but it was anticipation for something that might _yet_ feel guilty for.

Sitting into the jag, he watched as Abby stood by the door and waved.

Like if he didn't bring Morse and himself back in one piece, he realised.

He waved back.

Like... Like he would _disappoint_ her, in a sense, almost as if-

_Holy shit._

This was the first time in his life that he had someone to come back _to_.

Someone who was waiting for him at home, someone who he was accountable for, someone who he had to return to despite the dangers of the job, despite the dangers of Gull, despite the dangers of the world itself.

It wasn't dread or guilt or anticipation.

It was _responsibility_.

Thursday caught his sudden wide-eyed look and smirked knowingly.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it".

* * *

Morse choked as a fist landed squarely in his ribs, forcing all breath from his lungs and filling his mouth with blood as he bit his tongue too hard.

Coughing, he went limp in the chair, only the zip ties keeping him upright which, you know, _not good_, considering he thinks his right shoulder is dislocated. The restraints dug into his wrists, leaving them black and blue and bloody, and he lost feeling in his right leg hours ago which, also, _not good_.

The flat edge of a knife pressed beneath his chin as his was forced to look up.

Gull almost looked just as bad as he did, though for entirely different reasons.

The man had officially gone insane.

His clothes were old and filthy, hair falling over his forehead in a messy clump, and eyes wide and bloodshot. There was dirt on his face from their brief fight however long ago, and it was streaked with sweat and angry tears as Morse continued to not give in.

He _couldn't_ give in.

Giving in meant he was just as mad as his kidnapper, and despite what Gull kept telling him, they were _nothing_ alike.

He distantly wondered how long he'd been here for. Gull didn't have a watch, and as far as he could tell, he visited him at random times of the day. The hunger pains in his stomach had long sense been and gone, however, so he had to have been here for a few days.

He thought a lot about Peter and Abby.

* * *

"You're not listening to me, _Endeavour_".

The knife turned and dug into bruised skin.

"I wonder why".

"Shut your mouth or you'll be punished!"

"What, more than you've already done?"

Gull glared, his grip on the switch blade tightening, before suddenly stepping back.

"Why don't you just give in?"

"Because I'm not a lunatic".

"And you think I am?!"

Morse grinned, painfully and bloody, "_Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter_".

"That's my line! Don't take my- That's not- You- You can't'!" He exploded.

"_Alas, I rather hate myself. For hateful deeds committed by myself_".

"Shut up, I told you! That's not you, that's- that's Richard, that's me!"

"_I am a villain_".

With an enraged yell, he flung the knife at him, the blade missing his neck by inches, clattering loudly on the stone floor behind him.

And then, just as sudden, the man calmed.

"Finish the quote, England".

He frowned.

What did he mean by-

"_Finish it!_"

"... What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I-"

"-Is there a murderer here? No. Yes. I am" Gull finished, turning back to him.

"I am, Morse. A murderer, a fool, a _villain_... But the villain's going to win, this time".

"The villain never wins" He countered, "You played your hand too early, _Richard_. Everyone knows _exactly_ what kind of man you are".

"... Since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain" Gull slowly said, walking over to pick back up the switchblade, "And if I cannot prove a villain, Endeavour, then at least _I_ _can take you down with me_".

* * *

*BANG*

* * *

They both froze, eyes snapping to the metal door that Gull had shut behind him.

From behind it, in the distance, they could hear more doors being opened and closed.

Morse felt his heart rate pick up until it was playing a steady accelerando beat in his ears.

_Could it be..._

There was a sharp sting on his wrists as the zip ties were ruthlessly cut.

"_Up!_" Gull snarled, "Get up! Get up! _Get up!_"

He was dragged carelessly to his feet, his right leg going out from under him almost immediately, and Gull swore as he tried to keep him upright without losing grip on the knife.

There was only one thing that would make him this panicked.

"Come on!"

He hardly dared to hope.

Yanking open the door, he shoved Morse ahead of him, down a damp dank corridor filled with pipes and cobwebs.

Hearing yelling voices coming from the other end of the hall, he decided that no, actually, he would dare to hope.

Gull pressed the knife against his neck as they half ran, half stumbled forwards.

"_Make a single sound and I'll slit your throat!_"

There was, after all, only one thing that would make him this panicked.

* * *

The cavalry had arrived.


	26. Twenty Six

**Twenty Six**

Gull shoved him through the damp hallways, the knife still pressed against his throat. They stumbled down the dimly lit concrete, cold and rough against his bare feet, and Morse felt his heart beat faster and faster as the sounds of yelling increased, far behind them but echoing loudly.

They were here.

They had found him.

_He was going to be okay._

Gull tightened his hold on the switchblade.

"I'll _kill_ you before I let them have you".

_Or maybe not._

Morse had to think -and act- fast.

If the police reached them before he got the knife off Gull, then it probably wouldn't end very well for him.

The knife was lowered, but immediately replaced by a bruising grip in a choke hold as Gull dragged him worn steps and shoved at a metal door.

Morse clawed at his hands, but it was almost as if the man didn't feel it.

The stairs wreaked havoc on his leg, which now decided it was time to make itself known again.

Kicking at the door, Gull finally got it open and yanked Morse forwards. He threw him forward, out into blinding daylight, and he fell, knees hitting sun-warmed pavement.

Looking up, his gaze landed on the roof of Christ Church Library, which made this... King Edward Street.

_Obviously_.

His eyes took far long to adjust, but he suddenly realised that if he was dazed from the bright light, then Gull was too.

Using the last of his energy, he forced himself to his feet, turned around, and lunged.

* * *

His shoulder hit the older man in the stomach and sent them both stumbling back. The switch blade went flying out of his hand and clattering across the concrete. Gull grunted as his head hit solid ground, and Morse briefly hoped that it was enough to knock him out.

No such luck.

A sharp knee dug into his chest, stealing his breath and giving the man time to reverse their positions, rolling them over and pinning him to the ground. Morse snarled and kicked with all his might, managing to get enough space between them to scramble out from underneath him. A hand clutched at his ankle and yanked him back, and he clawed at the bare pavement, looking for anything at all to grab onto.

His blood-stained fingers found the knife.

He heard shouting in the distance as he spun around and kicked. Gull swore, loudly, before launching himself forward and getting an arm around his waist. Morse yelled, and slashed out with the blade, rewarded with a cry and a spray of blood that turned his stomach.

He fumbled with the knife as he turned, grappling with the maniac until he finally came out on top, both metaphorically and literally, as he pinned him to the pavement and finally got the sharp edge against his throat.

* * *

The man finally stilled.

From behind him, he heard running and familiar voices.

Morse struggled for breath, chest heaving and old wounds reopened, and beneath him, Gull grinned with blood covered teeth.

* * *

"You threatened me" He said quietly, "You threatened me, you threatened my friends, you threatened my _family_".

Footsteps halted a few meters away, and he heard the familiar cackle of a police radio.

"Richard doesn't win. Richard _never_ wins".

"Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end, Endeavour?"

"Something like that".

His grip tightened on the knife as he imagined with vivid imagination what would happen if he was to simply... _slice_.

He'd threatened Abby. He'd hurt her and terrified her and traumatised her beyond belief. He'd used his five-year-old daughter just to get at him.

Gull didn't deserve to live.

Behind them, was more shouting and running and he vaguely wondered if any civilians had seen them before the police had arrived.

"Morse?"

_Oh had he missed that voice._

Peter stepped a little closer.

"Morse, it's me, you're safe now, alright?"

He wouldn't be safe until Gull was dead. None of them were.

"Will you put down the knife?" Richmond asked.

They were all in danger as long as he lived.

"... Abby?"

"She's safe, Morse" He replied immediately, "I was with her over the last few days, and she's with Win and Joan now. She's safe".

He slowly nodded, eyes never leaving Gull's, fingers clenching and loosening around the blade.

It would be so _so_ easy...

"Go on then" the man grinned, "_Do it_. I know you can. Prove it. _Prove it_".

"Morse, listen to me, just drop the knife, please!"

"... It's over, Richard".

He laughed, high and sudden.

"It's never over. Not for Richard. Not for _me_... Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die!"

He slowly lowered the knife.

"The day is ours" Morse finished, feeling strangely numb, "The bloody dog is dead".

* * *

Jakes hadn't known what to expect when Strange radioed in to say he found them. He knew from the man's tone that Morse wasn't dead, but how much damage had been done asides from that...

He ran to the service tunnel entrance, glad to find more than a few familiar faces already there and ushering civilians away from it. There was a sort of semi-circle of Uniform around the area, and it wasn't until he shoved his way through that he found out why.

Morse had Gull pinned the pavement with a switch blade against his throat. Previously pale skin was now stained red, thin lacerations across his chest and back. His right shoulder wasn't quite right looking, and, c_hrist_, there was a bullet hole in his leg. He was covered in bruises, some already fading to yellow, but angry blue and purple marks already raising on his neck.

Despite all of that, however, he couldn't help but feel relieved, watching as the slighter man snarled and dug in the blade, incredibly alive and unbelievably stubborn and somehow, impossibly, still fighting.

That bastard may have broken Morse's bones, but he sure as _hell_ hadn't broken his spirit.

* * *

The minute the knife hit the ground, there was shouting and heavy footsteps once more, and Morse allowed warm hands to gently pry his fingers from Gull's dust covered shirt, carefully pulling him back until he was completely free of the man.

Peter stood in front of him, hauling the maniac to his feet and cuffing both hands behind his back before handing him off to Uniform.

Gull continued to grin.

"Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!"

"Morse?"

He watched as he was led to an awaiting police car.

"Morse?"

He was unceremoniously shoved inside, and Uniform shut the door behind him.

"Morse!"

He started, blinking quickly as his sight of Gull was suddenly blocked.

Richmond knelt in front of him.

"Morse? Can you hear me?"

He slowly nodded, only realising that Thursday was there too when a warm heavy coat was pulled tightly across his shoulders.

"The ambulance is on its way, lad" He continued, ducking down to be eye level with him, "But DeBryn is here. Is there anything that needs seeing to now?"

"I…" His voice was suddenly hoarse, and Peter flinched.

He coughed, painfully, "I… I don't… I _can't_-"

"Hey, now, it's alright" He quickly hushed, "We'll have you sorted out soon enough, don't you worry".

Thursday disappeared from his sight again, and Max appeared instead.

"I heard you've been put through the ringer" He greeted, forcibly cheerful, "So let's wrap some of these up while we wait for that ambulance, hm?"

He let his head fall back against the wall behind him and- when had he moved? _Had_ he moved? Did _they_ move him instead? -and it was a beautiful cloudless morning.

It had been evening time when he was taken.

"H-How long-?"

Thursday smiled sadly from where he was crouched down next to him, "Corned beef".

He slowly nodded.

Friday, then.

Not quite a full week.

* * *

"Morse?"

There was a light tap on the side of his face.

"Morse?"

He hummed.

"When did he shoot you?"

Max.

"Morse? When did Gull shoot you?"

When _did_ he shoot him? It wasn't the first day, he doesn't think, but it was old enough that it had stopped paining him, or, well, until the stairs, at least.

"... Middle?" He guessed.

"Of your- your time? With him?"

He nodded and looked around for Richmond.

He'd been there a minute ago, hadn't he?

There was another gently tap, this time on his left hand, and he slowly looked down to see familiar fingers intertwining with his, strangely pale and clean looking compared to his own bloody knuckles and bruised skin.

"... Pet'r?"

"I'm here, Morse".

He looked up and immediately met worried green eyes.

"_Richmond_".

The older man frowned, "Morse?"

"Richmond" He repeated, feeling suddenly giddy.

Richmond had saved him. Richmond had saved Elizabeth of York. Richmond had saved _England_.

_True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings._

There was a slamming of car doors, a sudden yell ahead of them, and then a flurry of action.

_Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings._

Gull.

He felt Peter's hand leave his own and saw the flash of a barrel, before Max was shoved against his side and Thursday leapt in front of them.

Morse just about caught sight of wild brown eyes rushing his way, before there was a muted bang, the man jerked, blood sprayed from the neat little hole in his forehead, and the body tumbled to the earth.

_A horse, a horse! I'd give my kingdom for a horse!_

He felt suddenly detached from himself, staring at the rushing policemen and the shouting doctor and the panicking Richmond.

_The day is ours._

There were more flashing lights and even more yelling before his fading vision was swarmed with men and women in white.

_The bloody dog is dead._

He hoped, at least, that Richmond got to stay with Elizabeth.


	27. Twenty Seven

**Twenty Seven**

Jakes kept his gaze on the unconscious man in front of him as the door opened.

There was a pause, a heavy sigh, and then Thursday's weary voice.

"I thought I'd find you here".

"Where else would I be?"

"In your _own_ room? It's there for a reason, you know".

He finally turned to him, with a somewhat irritated look.

"I don't _need_ a hospital bed".

"No, you just need to rest" He replied calmly, "... How's the shoulder?"

Jakes glanced down at the sling holding his left arm in place, white bandages peeking out from beneath his open shirt collar.

"It'll mend".

"Not with you up and about, it won't" He scolded, dragging out a chair from the corner, "You're meant to be staying still".

"Does it look like I'm doing bloody _cartwheels?!_" He snapped.

Thursday raised a single eyebrow at him.

Jakes sighed.

"_Sorry_. I just... Sorry".

"It's alright. What you _did_ wasn't, however".

He ran a tired hand over his face, "And what did you _expect_ me to do? He had a gun and he was pointing it at _Morse_".

"I _expected_ you to let Uniform do their job" He shot back, "And _not_ jump in front of a bloody bullet before drawing your own weapon!"

"You telling me he didn't deserve it?"

"No. I'm not. I'm telling you it's going to be a _hell_ of a lot of paperwork".

His gaze drifted back to the silent hospital bed.

"... Is Bright pissed?"

"That you got yourself shot? Yes" He replied simply, "That you killed Gull? Well... Not so much".

"Does he expect me back?"

"Not anytime soon, that's for sure. You're on medical leave until further notice. _Both_ of you".

Thursday glanced at the man in between them, as if expecting a sarcastic denial or protest.

None came.

"... How is he?"

"Alive" Jakes said, with a humourless laugh, "According to the doctors, that's about all we can hope for right now".

"He _will_ get better. You know he will" He tried to reassure, "He's nothing if not stubborn... I need to go back to the office, clear this whole mess up. Strange will be by later to get your version of events, and Doctor DeBryn said he'd call in after processing Gull's body... I take it you won't be home tonight?"

"Not tonight" He said, shaking his head and vaguely wondering when the _Thursdays_ had become _home_, "The doctors want to keep me for observation, just in case of... well, I don't know. Just in case. Can you tell Abby goodnight for me?"

"'Course. I'll bring her by, soon, with Win. Maybe Joan, too, if she's around... I'll see you tomorrow".

The older man stood and carefully put back the chair, before pausing at the door.

"And Peter?"

He glanced up.

"Try and get some sleep, alright?"

He snorted, but nodded all the same.

As if he'd sleep easily after what happened...

* * *

He'd been elated to find Morse, and almost as glad that they could finally arrest Gull again. He stood by, rather impatiently, as DeBryn treated his partner's wounds as best he could, asking him questions both for medical knowledge and to keep him awake, as Morse's gaze kept drifting in and out of focus.

"... Pet'r?"

"I'm here, Morse" He quickly replied, shuffling closer on his knees and immediately being latched onto by storm coloured eyes.

"_Richmond_".

He frowned, wondering if it was nonsensical babbling or actually something important.

"Morse?"

"Richmond" He repeated, half-grinning.

Jakes only had a second to dwell on it before there was a yell behind them.

Leaping to his feet, he spun around, only to find Gull breaking free of Uniform's hold and scrambling out of the police car. His hands had been cuffed behind him, Jakes had done it himself, but now, _somehow_, he had gotten both arms in front of him and he was running their way and-

And he had a _gun_.

Thursday shouted a warning and pulled DeBryn out of his line of fire before jumping in front of him. Jakes did the same with Morse, not hesitating to put himself between him and Gull, even as the maniac raised the gun, even as Jakes unholstered his own, even as they both pulled the trigger and the same time and _BANG_.

He didn't see Gull fall.

But he knew his aim was perfect.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still as he stumbled backwards, propelled by an invisible blow, tripping over grass and dirt and _Morse_ before landing, _hard_, on his back on the ground below. He slowly blinked, noting the absolute _terror_ that Thursday was looking at him with, and then suddenly, everything sped up again.

There was yelling, flashing lights, people running around and back and forth and then his guvnor was there, shaking him and _screaming_ his name and he blinked once more before the pain caught up with him.

"Holy _fuck_".

It felt like his entire left side was on _fire_ and he suddenly _gasped_ for breath.

Thursday grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, unceremoniously shoving his head between his legs and putting a heavy hand on his neck to keep him there.

Jakes was almost _positive_ that the man was shouting at him, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears and his own haggard breath. He slowly got it under control, eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to block out the pain, the _ache_, the feeling of hot _blood_ spilling down his _skin_.

-the _fuck_ were you thinking?! Don't you think _one bloody son_ is _enough_ for me _to lose _today?! I swear to _god_ Peter if the job doesn't kill me then the _stress_ of you two absolute _fucking_ idiots will! What the-"

_Christ_, Thursday was loud.

And also incredibly _angry._

He didn't think he'd ever seen him so furious.

* * *

It wasn't until much _much_ later that he actually processed what Thursday was saying, and realised that not only was it one of the first times that his guvnor had used his first name, but he also hadn't called him anything _other_ than 'Peter' since.

* * *

Right now, however, he was more focused on the first half of the tirade.

_One bloody son is enough for me to lose._

_One bloody son._

_Morse._

Desperately pulling up the last dredges of his energy, he fought against the hands holding him down and scrambled back to try and catch a glimpse of Morse.

He was where he'd left him, half propped up against the wall, a strange look on his face and his eyes half closed.

"'orse?"

His voice was taut with pain and he agonizingly cleared his throat.

"Morse!"

The younger man's head slowly fell to the side to face him.

His eyes were glazed over, and Jakes wasn't sure how much he was actually _seeing_. DeBryn was still shoving gauze and bandages and pieces of ripped up cloth at every bleeding wound he could reach. Thursday seemed to be doing the same to Jakes' left shoulder, but he blocked out the deep-rooted _ache_ and the man's curses to try and reach his partner's hand.

His fingers fell short by a mere inche.

"_Morse_".

Baby blue eyes cleared, for a split second, before slowly, ever so slowly, falling shut.

Jakes froze.

In the distance, the sirens had stopped and paramedics were racing their way.

Morse's eyes remained closed.

DeBryn half-heartedly tapped his face, trying to get him to wake, and Jakes half-heard Thursday frantically calling his own name.

They managed to lift Morse onto the stretcher, shouting things about blood pressure and hypovolemic shock, while another man dressed in the same white uniform crouched down next to him.

Jakes wanted to snap at him, to tell him to go to Morse, to help _him_ instead because he _needed_ it more than _Jakes_ did and _why_ can't they _see_ that _go to him you bloody idiot not me Morse not me not-_

Thursday lifted his arm when he couldn't do it himself, limbs strangely heavy and uncooperative, and the paramedic pulled out an injection and told him to count back from ten.

He was out before he could even start.

* * *

Waking up in hospital wasn't a _new_ experience, but it wasn't exactly one he enjoyed, and as soon as the doctors left, Jakes painfully pulled on the spare shirt someone had left him, and found his way to Morse's room.

His partner looked terrible.

Pale, worn down, somehow _thinner_ than usual. He was hooked up to a hundred-and-one machines that Jakes couldn't even begin to name, and there was a breathing tube in his mouth and three needles in his hand, connected to an IV bag, blood bag, and what he could only assume was some kind of antibiotics. Most of his skin was bandaged, thick gauze straining against medical tape in some places and mere butterfly plasters in others. His right arm was held in a sling, a mirror image of Jakes, and both wrists were surrounded by inch thick bandages. If he lifted the blankets, he knew he'd find just as heavy dressing around his right thigh. The skin that he _could_ see was discoloured by various stages of bruises; sickly yellows and greens on his chest and arms, violent blues and purples around his throat.

Morse looked fragile, lying in that bed, unnaturally still and too perfectly positioned. He looked vulnerable, damaged, somehow _breakable_.

Jakes was almost too afraid to hold his hand.

* * *

By the time Thursday could visit, it was almost lunch, and despite his lack of appetite, he gratefully took the half sandwich offered and forced himself to eat it. They hadn't said much, just sat there and stared at the wounded creature between them.

He didn't even smile when he heard that Gull was dead, merely nodding once and sardonically replying with "I guess Richmond kills Richard after all".

Thursday had given him a _look_ for the macabre humour, warned him not to pull any stupid stunts again, and then left, promising to return that evening.

It was dark, now, and Jakes couldn't help but wonder if it was dark where Morse had been kept too.

Strange had paid a visit, as promised, and after taking his statement, had caught him up on the latest news.

They'd found a room, he'd said, where Morse had likely been kept. It was damp and cold and smelt like blood. There were two metal chairs in the middle, bolted to the floor, and trace fragments of glass on the ground against one of the walls. There were no windows, only one door, and red stained handcuffs on the floor.

Three days Morse had been there for.

Three. _Bloody_. Days.

England survived the assault, but Jakes distantly wondered_ for how long_. He knew it was pointless to torture himself with such thoughts, but every time he tried to stop, he remembered how Morse had _literally_ been tortured, and the never-ending cycle began again, keeping him awake and pained and _tormented_.

It was close to three in the morning before he finally drifted off.

* * *

He was awoken some hours later, by the sound of low voices talking.

Jakes slowly opened his eyes, feeling disconnected and heavy headed, and strangely _out of sync_ with the world around him. Directly in front of him, was a pale, bandaged hand, and it took some time before he realised that he must have fallen asleep with his head on Morse's bed. There was something heavy and warm draped over him too, and based on the familiar tobacco he could vaguely smell, it was less likely to be a blanket and more likely to be Thursday's coat.

Slowly straightening up, he couldn't bite back the groan as his shoulder moved from the awkward position, and all talking immediately stopped around him.

If he were in less pain, he'd have laughed at how comical it was.

A quick glance at Morse revealed no change, and he ran a tired hand through his hair and he turned to face the other visitors.

Both DeBryn and Thursday stared back at him, the latter somewhat concerned and the former somewhat annoyed.

"If you'd stayed in bed like you were supposed to, _Sergeant_" He remarked, "You wouldn't be hurting right now".

"Don't get righteous on me, doc, it's too late for that".

DeBryn sighed but nodded, walking over to carefully help him move the stiff shoulder.

"The bandages need to be changed".

"Can you do it?"

He got an assessing look from behind clear spectacles.

"... I can" He eventually replied, "Let me see if I can find the required apparatus".

They both watched him leave, before Thursday sighed and gave him a half-hearted glare.

"You know, when I told you to get some sleep, Peter, I didn't mean in _here_".

"Did you honestly expect me to leave?"

"... No" He reluctantly admitted, "But Win will be by later, with some clothes for you. I suggest you sleep _then_, in a proper bed, while she keeps vigil".

"Abby?"

"Joan has her for the day. We thought it best that you both heal a little before bringing her in... We don't want to frighten to poor child".

He couldn't help but agree, staring at Morse's stitches and bruises and the blood still speckling his hair. He didn't imagine he looked much better himself, in that regard, and then found himself desperately trying not to think about the red staining his hands.

Thankfully, DeBryn returned not long after and derailed his train of thoughts.

* * *

"You're lucky I have friends in this hospital" He huffed, pushing a small tray in ahead of him, "Or they would be _none too keen_ about me treating _their_ patient".

"Thank you" He replied quietly, awkwardly shrugging off Thursday's coat.

The doctor merely gestured at the window and told him to pull his chair up closer so they'd have more light.

He was grateful that his shirt was a button down, and couldn't _imagine_ the added hassle and pain that would be involved with a simple t-shirt. It still took some manoeuvring and a few bitten off curses to free his shoulder, however, and Jakes quickly turned his attention to the outside world to try and block it out.

The window was large and clean, and he guessed that they were about three or four floors up. It was bright outside, but not sunny, and very few cars passed below. Early then, but not _too_ early, or else Thursday and DeBryn wouldn't be here.

He frowned.

"What time is it?"

"Oh, the freshness of the morning, the early morning rosy, when the kiss of night, betrayed in dew, yet lingers on the leaves".

Jakes paused; the words _familiar_ somehow.

"Dawn?" He replied, "What's that? Five, six, o'clock?"

The doctor gave him a surprised, but _pleased_, look as he finished unwinding the bandages.

"Morse is teaching you _something_, then".

"Or maybe I'm just getting used to your cryptic ways".

"There's nothing _cryptic_ about poetry, Sergeant. Only people who don't understand it".

He huffed a laugh, all too aware that it was something Morse would say himself, if in less kind words.

"Just after half six, I reckon" Thursday answered, "I left home on the hour, and haven't been here that long".

Jakes slowly nodded.

He'd gotten no more than three hours sleep, then.

No wonder he still felt like death warmed over.

DeBryn caught his look and gave him one of his own.

"After I'm done here, you're going to sleep".

"What? No, I'm-"

"If you finish that with 'fine', _Peter_, I'll shoot you myself" Thursday growled.

"... I was actually going to say 'okay".

The inspector let out a deep breath and met his gaze evenly.

"The doctor's say he won't wake for two or three days at least. Not with the medicine he's on, and not with the rest he needs... You won't be much good to him when he wakes if you hardly stand yourself".

Jakes scowled and looked away.

"I'll be here for another two hours, Peter. I can wake you before I leave for the station, and then you can sit with him until Win arrives. I'm not asking you to leave him for twelve hours, though god _knows_ I should, it's just for a small while, alright?"

DeBryn finished rewrapping the wound, and he slowly pulled back on his shirt.

"... Two hours?"

"Two hours" Thursday agreed.

His gaze drifted past him and back to Morse.

He knew he wouldn't wake for a while yet, and he knew that he was relatively in the clear, death wise. It was stupid that he didn't want to leave him, given how he couldn't do anything to help, but he didn't like the thought of letting him alone either, not when he looked so small and _fragile_.

"I'll be here" His boss prompted, "And I'm sure that the doctor has another half hour to spare".

"I'm not needed below until nine" DeBryn confirmed, "_Sleep_, Jakes. We'll stay with him until you return".


	28. Twenty Eight

**Twenty Eight**

Jakes' stitches were removed the same morning as Morse's breathing tube and blood bag, nearly four days after they'd first arrived at hospital.

The man had yet to wake up, but all the doctors and nurses assured him that he was getting better, and that he would regain consciousness in his own time, when his body decided it was well enough to do so.

And, _as usual,_ Morse was taking his own bloody time.

Jakes returned to the Thursdays' for a shower and change of clothes while Joan kept watch at the hospital. Abby was delighted to see him, and he was just as happy to see her, something uneasy in his chest settling when he saw she was safe and well. Win forced him to stay for lunch, expertly guilt tripping him into it, and then he dropped by the station to deal with any issues the aftermath of Gull's death might have caused.

He received a hero's welcome, his 'battle wounds' on show in a sling, and despite having relished in the attention in the past, Jakes found himself wanting to avoid everyone now and just get back to Morse as soon as possible.

So, he grinned and bared it, answered every question as vaguely as he could, and flat out glared at anyone who made a 'birds love a man injured in the of duty' comment. A quick look-in to Bright resulted in awkward praise and _"don't worry about the case, just focus on recovering"_. Thursday was more blunt with his _"what the hell are you doing here Peter?"_ but reluctantly allowed him to get all the necessary paperwork done at once. And then it was back to the hospital to relieve Joan, who smiled, kissed his cheek, and offered to fetch him some coffee before she left.

* * *

The next morning Thursday arrived, and told him that Win would be bringing Abby later that day, since he was back on his feet and most of Morse's bruising had faded. The younger man still looked horrible, of course, all bandaged and stitched up like some sort of gothic monster, but compared to how he was when they found him...

_Well._

He hoped Abby wouldn't be too scared of it all.

* * *

They arrived just before lunch time, Win with her handbag on one arm and a picnic basket with sandwiches and a small trifle in the other. He met them in the hospital waiting room, Abby immediately grinning and all-but launching herself at him. He caught her as best he could, but had to set her back down after a few minutes as his shoulder protested.

She didn't mind, though, rambling about how it was her idea to have a picnic, despite the fact that they were inside, and how she'd helped make the sandwiches and had put cream on the trifle and she brought Herbert with her too in case Max was around but she couldn't wait to see her dad and it had been ages since she'd spent any proper time with Jakes and she had so many stories to tell him from the last few days and-

"I genuinely don't know how you even raised _one,_ let alone _two"_ Jakes told Win quietly, as Abby continued to talk without pausing for breath.

"Don't worry, dear. The second she sees the sandwiches, she'll stop".

He gave her a curious look, but she merely smiled and patted his good arm.

"Why do you think I make them for Fred?"

* * *

They decided to have lunch in Morse's room, as Jakes didn't want him to be alone for too long, and Abby was anxious to see him right away, despite them telling her he was still sleeping. And so it was with bated breath that he pushed open the door ahead of her and watched as she stepped into the same room as her father in almost two weeks.

Abby froze when she saw him.

Jakes swallowed thickly and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Win handed him the picnic basket and excused herself to the bathroom to give them time alone.

"... Daddy?"

Morse remained silent and still, plasters on his cheek and lip, bandages on his forehead and wrists. Jakes was glad he'd had the foresight to pull the man's blankets up to his neck, not wanting his daughter to see the myriad of stitches and gauze that was now his chest.

Abby slowly took a step forward, and then another, and another more quickly, until she was running for the bed and he had to rush after her to stop her from jumping up on it.

"_Daddy?_" She repeated, wrapping small fingers around the unconscious man's hand. There was an urgent, pleading tone to her voice that made Jakes feel wretched inside.

She turned to him, wide blue eyes brimming with tears.

"Why won't he wake up?!"

_Christ._

Jakes took a deep breath before setting the picnic basket on the edge of the bed and crouching down so they were at the same level.

"Abby... The bad man who took you didn't like your dad. It wasn't anything that he did, or- or _said,_ it was just... the bad man was unhealthy, in his head. He hurt your dad, but then we _found_ him, and now the hospital is making him better again... But for that to happen, he needs to sleep a lot".

"But can't he wake for just a few minutes? To say hello?" She begged, "Then he can go straight back to sleep again, I promise!"

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but it doesn't work like that".

The first of the tears overflowed and he didn't hesitate to pull her forwards and wrap himself around her. She cried, quietly, against his good shoulder, but didn't argue or ask anymore, and Jakes honestly wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

"When will he wake up?" She eventually whispered, after a good five minutes had passed.

"... I don't know, kiddo" He admitted, "But he _will_, I promise you that. Your dad just needs time to get better, and the longer he sleeps, the better he'll feel when he _does_ wake".

Abby took a deep breath and nodded, pulling back.

"Did the bad man hurt you too?"

He winced as her gaze latched onto the sling.

"Yea. He did. But he- he can't hurt anyone, anymore, okay? So you're _safe,_ and your daddy's safe, and I'm safe, too. The bad man is gone now... and he's never coming back".

* * *

As Win had said, Abby settled down once the food was brought out, though Jakes wondered how much of that was actually due to the inside picnic, and how much was due to seeing her father in such a state. They left later that evening, with a fair amount of fanfare and tears from the five-year-old, protests which only abated after Win promised to bring her back the next day.

And so it went, day after day, Abby running ahead to hug Jakes, ask if her dad had woken up yet, and then sit in a sort of mulish silence until Win said it was time to go home. They developed a routine before too long, where Thursday would bring Abby in with him on his way to work, and then Win would pick her up before dinner. As loving as her honorary grandmother was, the woman did have her own life before all this, and she needed a break from the five-year-old as well. Jakes was all too glad to take over babysitting duties, especially since he meant he could keep track of his two favourite people at once. They had other visitors, sometimes, Joan spending her lunch break with them or Monica, Strange and Max calling in on their way home. It was slow going, but Jakes knew it was a process he couldn't rush.

Eventually, his sling was removed, and he was given firm instructions not to move too quickly or lift anything too strenuous. Abby ignored those orders completely, and now spent most of the day curled up on his lap, either napping, drawing, or listening to his stories, sometimes nonsensical, sometimes from his own past. It wasn't exactly a normal situation, but they made it work.

* * *

Today was a napping day, Thursday having told him she'd woken from nightmares early last night and hadn't gone back to bed since. She was fast asleep, head on his shoulder, one hand grasping his shirt and the other wrapped around Herbert the giraffe. Jakes was awake, but weary, and staring at his unconscious partner.

"It's about time you woke up, you know" He said quietly, listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor in the background.

"It's been over a week since we found you, since... since _everything._ The doctor's say it's up to you now, to wake".

There was no response.

Jakes sighed, "I can understand why you don't want to, I suppose. Having to face everything means admitting that it actually _happened_ and... well, even I don't want to admit that".

Abby shifted against him for a moment before settling down again.

"At least wake up for her, okay? Because she's a great kid, Morse, she's- she's _incredible_ and... and she deserves to have a father. The Thursdays and I are minding her now, but you know that's not the same".

_*Beep... Beep... Beep*_

"That's probably something we should talk about, by the way" He continued, "What would happen to her if- if anything ever happened to _you..._ You probably have it sorted, probably have... I don't know, someone who's agreed to take custody of her, but if you _don't_ then she'd be sent to her mother and if not her then she'd be put in foster care or a- a _school_ or- or-"

He let out a ragged breath and ran a tired hand over his face.

"... You can't let that happen to her, Morse. I won't let it. Not after- Not after I told you about- about _there_ and- and what that _did_ to me, I_ can't-_"

_*Beep.. Beep.. Beep*_

"... I'd kidnap her. If that- If that was _ever_ going to happen, if she was going to be taken away from me and sent to- to a _place_ like that... _Christ,_ Morse, I'd grab her and _run,_ the law be damned".

He was surprised himself by the vehemence in his voice.

"You know Thursday would help me, lead the police on a wild goose chase to- to _Wales_ or someplace, and we'd get away and- and I don't know, change our names, find a- a quiet village somewhere, settle down or... We just really need to talk about that".

_*Beep. Beep. Beep*_

He frowned and turned to the quickening machine.

"Morse?"

The unconscious man's fingers twitched.

"Morse?"

The machine got louder.

"... _Morse?_"

And then suddenly, storm coloured eyes were staring back at him.

* * *

Morse woke slowly.

It was like going through different stages. First there was a sort of awareness, where he knew he wasn't awake but nor was he sleeping. Then came the sense of touch; realising he was lying down on something soft with a pillow beneath his head and a warm hand in his more often than not. Third, was his sense of smell, which was weird, being surrounded by clinical cleanness when he last remembered metallic blood and wet grass beneath his hands. Then his hearing, which seemed to appear all at once, because one minute there was an empty silence and then next there was oh-so-familiar rambling. And fifthly, finally, he could open his eyes again.

Peter was sitting in a plastic hospital chair next to him, messy haired and wide eyed, with Abby sound asleep on his lap, drooling on his shirt and choking the life out of poor Herbert. It took a second for the image to process, for him to realise that if they were here, then he must be in hospital, and if he was in hospital then-

_Then he was safe._

"Morse?"

He blinked.

"... Pe't'r".

His voice was rough from disuse, and the word was mangled beyond beyond belief, but it still cause the older man to smile, a soft upturn at the side of his mouth as the corner of his eyes crinkled and Morse didn't think he'd ever seen such a beautiful sight.

"About damn time you woke" He said teasingly, strangely hoarse sounding, "You're in hospital... Gull's dead, but everyone else is fine".

He immediately relaxed, breathing easier at the reassurance he hadn't even known he'd needed. Now that he had _that_ ascertained, he began to catalogue his injuries. He was stiff and sore, but the pain was muted, _distant_ almost, like his brain felt too, and he guessed that he was on the good stuff.

"Day s'it?"

"Wednesday" Jakes replied, "Almost two weeks since we found you... _Christ,_ Morse-"

"C'mere".

He didn't need to be asked twice, and Abby was quickly but gently placed in his chair as he all but rushed over and collapsed on his knees at the side of the bed, warm fingers grasping his hand and head resting on his shoulder as his entire body shook with relief.

"I thought we'd- _I'd_\- lost you" He choked out, and Morse struggled to fight back his own tears.

"Never" He promised, "Too stubborn for that".

Jakes gave a choked laugh, and when he looked up, the younger man was startled to find him misty eyed.

"... Don't ever do that again, okay?"

"Occupational hazard".

"Occupational hazard is getting _shot"_ He snapped, "You- You _sacrificed_ yourself like a- a-"

"-a father?" He finished, "He had _Abby"._

"I know! I _know_, I-"

Jakes cut himself off and took a deep breath.

"... This was wait until you're better. Along with a few other things we need to talk about" He stood, _stiffly,_ Morse noted with some concern.

"I'll fetch the doctor".

* * *

Morse watched him go with some regret and a lot of confusion.

Peter was angry, yes, and justifiably so, but he couldn't deny for one second that he wouldn't have done the same thing, so that couldn't be what was bothering him. The awkward way he was holding himself, both when he was on the floor and standing, spoke of stiffness and pain. Having Abby curled up on him could explain the former, but not the latter.

And speaking of Abby…

He watched as the girl shifted in the chair and then pouted in her sleep, obviously aware on _some_ level that Jakes was no longer holding her. He couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight, even as the tears returned to his eyes.

He thought he'd never see her again.

He thought he'd never see _anyone_ again.

And now here she was, slowly waking up from the lack of Peter, Peter who had to deal with the fall out of him going missing, Peter who had to care for her while he was gone, Peter who had to raise her despite everything he was going through himself, despite missing him just as fiercely as Abby, despite having to work and lie and tell her it was all going to be okay _when there was every possibility that it wasn't_.

Maybe it was selfish, what he did, leaving the man to deal with all of that… but if it meant that Abby lived and maybe Morse _didn't…_ then he'd do it the exact same way all over again.

* * *

Abby slowly blinked, yawning and stretching sleepily. Herbert fell from her grasp and landed on the tiled floor below. She quickly reached down to grab him, and as she sat back up, she finally saw him.

She stilled, blue eyes wide and mouth partly open.

Morse smiled.

"Hey sweetheart".

She flung herself at him.

"Daddy! You're awake and- and talking and- and _awake_ and-"

"I know, I know, it's okay" He quickly reassured, wincing as she clambered onto the bed next to him and pressed against hidden wounds.

"Peter said he'd get you back, he _promised_ me, and then he did but I was still so _scared_ because I couldn't see you for _ages_ but then Peter came home and said I could see you the next day and-"

"Wait, hang on, when did it become _Peter?_"

Abby blinked.

"Well I can't call him daddy cause that's _you"._

Morse choked.

"I- You- I'm- You're-"

He forced himself to stop because Thursday would never let him out of his sight if he had a heart attack now.

"… Did Peter ask you to call him that?"

"No. But Joan said I should cause he loves you" She made a disgusted face, "She also said a lot of other gross mushy stuff but- Do you not love him back?"

_How the hell was this his life?_

"I… I don't _not_ love him back but this is… I mean, it's…"

He took a deep breath.

"… Abby, do you like Peter?"

"Of course!"

"And… do you like him enough to… to see him every day, maybe?"

"As in he'd live with us?"

"No! _No_, I just- I mean, eventually, it's- it's possible but not- not _now,_ just… in general" He finished lamely.

Abby sighed and sat back.

"Daddy, if you don't love him back, then you should just tell him. Joan says communication is necessary in every relationship".

As soon as he was able to stand again, he was going to kill her.

And he was going to make Max hide the evidence.

* * *

Morse ran a somewhat shaky hand through her hair, mourning at how much older she seemed now, despite it only being a few weeks since he'd last seen her.

"Abby… It's not just me I have to think about".

"Who? Monica? Cause she's visited a few times and her and Peter are friends now".

"No, sweetheart. _You"._

"Me?!" She scrunched up her nose, "Why do you have to think about _me?_"

"Because if anything ever happened-"

"Like now?"

"… Yea. Like now" He finally replied, "If… If I was ever _not_ here, Abby, then would you be happy living with Peter?"

"Could I still see Win and Joan?"

"Of course".

"And… And Monica? And Max?"

"It'd be difficult to keep them away".

She seemed to think for a minute, and he felt his heart constrict with nerves.

"… Yea" She eventually answered, "I'd be happy".

Morse let out a heavy breath.

"Good. _Good,_ that's… that's good, then".

"So, will you tell Peter you love him back now?"

The door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, face immediately flushing as the man in question walked in, a doctor quickly following behind. Peter smiled at him, softly, and then effortlessly lifted Abby off the bed and sat back down in the chair. She didn't hesitate to return to her previous position on his lap, Herbert clasped tightly in her hands and the doctor began checking the machines he was connected to.

Watching them sit there, _together,_ and clearly so at ease with one another did something to Morse's stomach, and he worried that the heart monitor would give him away. Abby wasn't _wrong,_ after all, and as much as he loathed to admit it, neither was Joan.

Communication was necessary in every relationship.

And it was about time he and Peter had a talk.


	29. Twenty Nine

**Twenty Nine**

It was a slow healing process.

As the days passed, one by one, Morse began to improve, though it was obvious he was doing so at a _far_ slower pace than he'd have liked. The bruises faded from angry blues and purples to muted greens and browns and eventually a sickly yellow colour which eventually blended into pale skin. Stitches were removed one by one, neat squares of gauze were peeled away, and bandages were unwrapped to allow healing wounds to breathe. The split lip vanished, as did the cut on his cheek and forehead, and two weeks after waking, it was almost as if Morse had never been held captive to begin with.

The only prolonged injury he had was the bullet wound, a deceptively small thing halfway between thigh and knee, on the same leg as last time. The doctor's assured them there would be no complications with it, that it would just take time to heal like every other wound. The bullet had missed everything vital.

Sometimes, Jakes dreamt that Gull hadn't missed at all.

At night, he relives the bloody and bruised creature he'd found crouched over his abuser, cracked and damaged and close, _too bloody close_, to being broken. He doesn't tell Morse about his nightmares, but sometimes the younger man gives him a _look_ that makes him question if he knows anyway.

There was something almost laughable in the fact he was taking this whole captured-by-a-psychopath-thing worse than the man who'd been captured to begin with, but DeBryn told him everyone deals with trauma differently and that while Morse always had Abby to come to, up until very recently Jakes had_ no one._

Apparently, the sudden realisation that he wasn't alone anymore, only for those loved ones to be just as suddenly wretched away from him, had caused his imagination to go into overdrive.

His arm was pretty much full healed now, and he proved it on a regular basis whenever Abby demanded she be picked up. Morse was soon able to sit up, stand, and walk unassisted, but he was still a good bit away from being able to lift the 5-and-a-half-year-old, so Jakes just had to double his efforts for both of them.

Soon after, the stitches in his leg were removed, and before too long, it was left unbandaged completely. Jakes found it hard to believe that Morse had come out of the whole ordeal with just an inch-wide white scar to show, but then he could hardly _complain_ about that either.

* * *

Three weeks after Morse woke up, he was allowed to go home.

* * *

Jakes had a physiotherapy appointment the morning that Morse was released, and as much as he wanted to skip it and drive straight to the hospital to pick him up, he also knew that the younger man would skin him alive if he did so.

As terrible a patient Morse was; self-sacrificing and reckless and running headfirst into danger literally _all the time_, he was an absolute _stickler_ for the rules when it came to anyone else. DeBryn sighed and called it poetic justice, Thursday merely smirked and blamed good-ole-fashioned karma. Either way, Jakes was _mildly_ irritated and listening to this blonde woman drone on and on about 'shoulder flexion' and 'scapular range of motion' just made him want to ditch the whole thing that bit more.

But eventually, _eventually_, he escaped, and drove just that _tiny_ bit above the speed limit to the Thursday's. The Inspector had brought Morse back to his, after all, since Jakes wasn't able to pick him up, and they had secretly decided between themselves that the younger man would be spending the night there too.

After Morse had woken, he'd got back to spending nights at his own flat, and from there had progressed to the occasional half day at the office. Abby split her nights between him and Win, depending on if he was working the next day or not, so she already had a change of clothes there.

Which left Jakes, now driving with an overnight bag towards his boss's house where he would spend the night with his boyfriend and surrogate daughter in a tiny box-room and hopefully not die of suffocation or embarrassment.

Had this been even a single year previous, he would've been seriously questioning his life choices right about now.

But as it were, he was finally, somehow, against all odds, _happy._

* * *

Pulling up outside the Thursday's, he had barely enough time to step out of the car and grab his bag from the back before there was a slamming of doors and an excite 5-year-old running at him.

"_Peter!_"

He grinned and scooped her up the second she was close enough.

"Hey kiddo. How's it going?"

"It's _brilliant!_ Daddy's home!" She gushed, wrapping both arms around his neck.

His shoulder gave a twinge with the weight of both child and bag, but he gladly ignored it in favour of Abby's rapid ramblings. At the door, he was met by a smiling Win, and as he put the girl back down, Joan jogged down the stairs, grinning when she caught sight of the buzzing 5-year-old.

"Dad only got back half an hour ago, so I'm afraid she's still on a high".

He hardly had time to greet them before Abby was taking his hand and dragging him into the sitting room. Thursday was sitting in his usual armchair, pipe lit and newspaper in front of him. He gave him a nod when he came in, but Jakes' attention was quickly taken up by the bundled-up man half asleep on the couch.

Morse smiled tiredly at him, and wrapped an arm around Abby as she jumped up next to him. Peter crouched down in front of the pair, a heavy weight lifting off his shoulders as it finally kicked in that he was here, they were all here, and they were safe.

"Hey Peter".

"Hey yourself" He replied quietly, "Tired?"

_"Exhausted"._

He frowned, worried, and the younger man's smile widened in response.

"I'm _fine,_ honest. The doctor said I'd be like this for two or three days. All the excitement of normal clothes and actual food, apparently".

Jakes glanced down at the warm bluey-green sweater the man was wearing, and couldn't help but notice how it brought out his eyes.

He was distracted from that trail of thought as Abby gave a huge yawn, and Morse laughed.

Then he was distracted by _that_ and spent a good few seconds blinking dumbly at the pair as he suddenly realised that he hadn't heard Morse laugh, _genuinely_ laugh, since they'd rescued him.

Based on the lack of paper shuffling from behind him, Thursday had copped onto that too.

* * *

"Looks like I'm not the only one tired" Morse said, oblivious to it all as he brushed back the hair from his daughter's face, "Ready to go to sleep, sweetheart?"

"No!" She pouted, "We haven't even had _dinner_ yet!"

"Speaking of, I better check on it" Win said, startling both men who hadn't realised that they'd been watched. She disappeared around the door frame into the kitchen, and a second later, Joan appeared with a handful of forks and knives.

"Why don't eat in here tonight?" She asked, already setting the cutlery down on the coffee table, "It's warmer than the dining room, and more comfortable anyway".

Morse frowned, "Dinner? No, no, we, um, we can't-"

"Sure you can" Joan interrupted brightly, "Or hasn't lover-boy told you yet?"

Jakes was mildly annoyed to find himself flushing at the nickname, and it only got worse when his partner turned to scowl at him.

"Told me what?"

"We're, um… you know, just… I mean, it's…"

He floundered for the right words before spinning around to glare accusingly at Thursday.

"I thought _you_ were going to tell him?"

"Decided not to" He replied simply, turning the page in the newspaper, "Left it _all_ for you".

_That traitorous bastard._

This was revenge for not telling him that they were together, he just _knew_ it.

"Told me what?!" Morse snapped, definitely angry now.

"We're… staying _here_ for the night?"

"… We're what?"

"Staying here" Jakes repeated, somewhat awkwardly, "For the night. At least".

"_At least?!_"

"I thought you'd be happy!"

"I'd be _happier_ if I wasn't _imposing_ to people who'd already done _so much_-"

"None of that now, lad" Thursday interrupted firmly, "Nothing we've _ever_ done has been out of obligation".

"But- You- I-" He turned to Joan, "What about _you?_"

"What about me?" She shrugged, "At first I thought you were _cute,_ and yea, I mean, I wouldn't have been _unhappy,_ exactly, if something had happened between us, but it didn't and I'm cool with that. We _like_ you Morse, and we're doing this because we _want_ to help… And besides, I've always wanted to be the cool aunt".

Abby grinned at her and held out a tiny hand for a high-five.

Joan happily acquiesced.

* * *

Win bustled back into the room with large plates in her hands, and Jakes quickly stood to help her with the rest of them while his partner remained frozen in place, almost star struck.

Ten minutes later and they were all squished around various couches and armchairs with food in front of them and forks in hand. It was only when Jakes gently wrapped Morse's hand around his own cutlery that the man seemed to snap out of it.

"… We're staying here?"

"We're staying here" He confirmed, "I didn't think you'd want to return to your apartment, not right away at least, after everything that happened there, and Thursday agreed. My own flat is half the size; _Abby_ and I can barely fit, let alone anyone else, so this is the next best thing".

"But… _why?_"

"It's your first night back, Morse" He said simply, "It's only right that you spend it with family".

He blinked, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as he looked around the room at the smiling faces that stared back. Jakes caught a tell-tale glint in his eyes and watched as the man swallowed thickly. Subtly glancing over at Joan, he made a wordless gesture at Abby, and thankfully she got the message.

"Hey, Abs? Why don't you tell mum what we saw in the park today?" She asked brightly, drawing attention away from them.

As she began to ramble about the ducks, Jakes carefully reached over and took Morse's hand. He turned to him, eyes wide and damp, and the Sergeant smiled and gently squeezed his fingers. He blinked, again, as if trying to dispel any evidence of his sudden emotion, and when that didn't work, he turned his head and buried it in Jake's neck.

"You're _ours,_ Morse" He whispered, loud enough for only the man in question to hear, "Just as much as we're _yours"._

* * *

If Jakes had thought the bed upstairs was small before, it was nothing compared to how tight a fit it was now. He'd offered to sleep on the couch, so father and daughter would have both room and time to themselves, but Morse adamantly rejected the idea. It was the first time they were able to share a bed in weeks, after all, and he wasn't about to let that moment go to waste. So Jakes had agreed to stay, and then offered to keep Abby on his other side so her kicking wouldn't hurt Morse during the night, but that had been firmly shot down too, which had, eventually, after quite a lot of awkward manoeuvring and bitten off curses, let to now.

Morse had his back to the wall, safe and protected in the little alcove the single bed gave him. Abby was next, curled up in bright yellow pyjamas with Herbert the giraffe clutched in her tiny grasp. And finally, Jakes, with his back to the rest of the room so he could stare at his partner over the head of the sleeping child who was already beginning to steal the blankets.

It was a tight squeeze, that much was for sure, but it was also, strangely, perfect.

* * *

"… You were right, earlier" Morse suddenly said, gaze firmly latched onto the sleeping girl between them.

"I'm right about a lot of things" Jakes teased, "You'll have to be more specific".

"About- About the apartment. Going back to it, I don't… I don't think I _can,_ to be honest".

"I don't blame you" He replied evenly, "I can pack for you, if you like. And I'm sure Thursday and Joan would help, a few lads from down the nick, too".

"Thanks" He said quietly, "I just… I can't stop _picturing_ it. Monica lying there, unconscious. Abby's room a mess. And Abby herself…"

"She's here, Morse. We both are".

"I know-"

"No, I don't think you do" He cut off, reaching across to find the man's hand beneath the sheets.

"We're _all_ here, and we're _safe._ Gull's _dead,_ Morse. He can never hurt you or Abby or anyone else ever again".

"… It doesn't feel like it".

"It won't. Not for a while. But it will get better, _you_ will get better, it just takes time to heal and recover and- and _accept_ it all" Jakes finished, "Or, at least, that's what DeBryn keeps telling me".

Morse snorted, "Yea, that does sound like him… Max is rarely wrong, though".

"Then if you can't trust my words, trust his. It's _over,_ Morse. Case closed".

He watched as the younger man let out a ragged breath before burying his face in Abby's hair. If it hadn't been for the subtle tremors that wracked his frame, Jakes would never have known he was crying.

He wanted to talk, wanted to reassure and promise and _protect_, but he knew that it wasn't what he needed right now. So instead, he silently shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around Abby and Morse both, and pulled them close, so close that it almost hurt. The 5-year-old mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep, but didn't wake, and Morse gladly curled around her until they were both pressed against his chest.

* * *

It took a long twenty minutes before the younger man felt composed, and when he slowly looked back up, Jakes wasn't surprised to see tear streaks on his face.

"How the hell did I get so lucky?" He whispered hoarsely, and Jakes smiled and wiped away a stray tear, "I ask myself the same thing every day".

_"Sap"._

"Only for you".

It startled them both to hear the pure _honesty_ in that sentence.

"… What am I gonna do, Peter?"

"Heal. Give it time. Ask for help when you need it".

"You make it sound so _easy"._

"Well, if I've learned anything from staying with the Thursdays these last few weeks… I've learned that it _can_ be".

Morse continued to stare at them, their new positions leaving them mere inches apart on the soft pillow, and Jakes swore that if never did anything else in this life, then he'd make Morse see the truth of that statement.

"Could Abby stay with you while I try to find a place?"

"A new apartment?"

He nodded.

"Of course… But I was thinking-"

"Never good".

Jakes rolled his eyes but was secretly glad that he'd lifted the mood somewhat.

"I was thinking… You and Abby need a new place, and my lease is up soon, so since we'll both be looking… Maybe we could look for the _one_ place?"

Morse blinked.

"As in… the one apartment?"

"Or house" He shrugged, "I've never had anyone to spend money on before, so I've got a decent amount of savings. More than enough for a down payment and to secure a mortgage, at least".

"… We'd be living together?"

"If you wanted to".

"… _Together_ together?"

"If you want to say no-"

"_No!_" Morse blurted, "I mean _yes!_ I mean- no, it's- _Shit,_ it's-"

He took a deep breath.

"… I'd love to move in with you".

Jakes hardly dared breathe.

"Really?"

_"Really"_ He smiled, "And I know Abby would, we, um… we talked about it. Not _directly,_ as such, but… yea. I think we should try it".

He grinned.

"Okay, so, I can start packing up your stuff with the others while you narrow down a few places".

"How do you know you'll even like what I choose?" He teased.

"Because I like everything about you".

Morse stilled, and Jakes immediately _cursed_ himself for blurting out the confession-in-not-as-many-words. It wasn't that he was _afraid_ to say the L-word, or, maybe, just, not _totally_ afraid, but he'd never actually said it to anyone else before because he'd never been this _serious_ about anyone else before but now that he _had_ sort of said it he was panicking because _oh gosh what if that was too forward what if it was too much what if he was too much and-_

"I like everything about you, too" He whispered, shyly, "… I mean, maybe not the _hair gel,_ or the-"

"Oy!" He laughed, playfully shoving him away in the narrow space provided.

"I'm just_ saying!_" Morse grinned, "I think your fluffy hair is _adorable-"_

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk about _fluffy hair!_"

* * *

As they fell back into familiar bantering, both men felt more light hearted and calm than they'd been in weeks. What had happened, had happened, and all that was left was to move on. They had each other, at last, and both were adamant to never let someone almost take that from them again.

They were by no means a perfect family, but they were family, a strange conglomerate of grandparents and an honorary aunt and a father and _sort-of_ father and wasn't that just _terrifying?!_ but the point _was-_

_They were happy._


	30. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"And you have your coat?"

"She's wearing it, Morse" Jakes replied amused.

"And- And your bag?"

"Wearing that too".

"Lunch box?"

"She's _literally_ holding it right now".

"Shush!" He snapped, before turning back to the grinning 6-year-old in front of them.

"Do you have the right books?"

"_Daddy!_" Abby whined, "I have everything! You already checked!"

"Numerous times, may I add".

"You may not!"

Morse forced himself to take a deep breath and not panic at the swarm of children rushing around them to enter the brightly-coloured building behind the gates.

"… You _definitely_ have the right books?"

"_Yes!_" They both exclaimed and he at least had the decency to blush.

"Well it's not my fault I'm so worried! It's not every day your only child starts _school_ for the first time".

"I'll be _fine_, daddy, promise!"

Jakes slung an arm around his shoulder and nodded.

"Exactly, she's _fine_. Happy, even, which is what I think you _should _be worried about-"

"Peter!"

Morse sighed again, before crouching down in front of his daughter.

"You have my number, right?"

"And Peter's and Nana Thursday's and Aunty Joan's and-"

"Point taken!"

She wrung her hands in front of her, pigtails swinging back and forth with the motion.

"I'll be fine, daddy. If I get into any trouble then I'll go to a teacher".

"But you won't _get_ in trouble, right?"

"… Right".

"_Abby_-"

"I know! I won't get into trouble and I won't start any fights".

"But if you?" Jakes quickly asked.

"Then I hit first and I hit hard".

He grinned, "That's my girl".

* * *

Morse sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes at the pair.

"You two, I swear… Remember what Jim said?"

Abby frowned, "Not to use my self defence skills on other children?"

"_Exactly_. We didn't send you to those lessons for you to hurt people, okay? Not unless they try to hurt you first".

"Or they're idiots".

"_Peter!_"

"What? You were thinking it!"

In front of them, Abby giggled, and Morse couldn't help but return the smile.

"… Alright, that's enough. Come here, one last hug before you go".

She happily obeyed, and then wrapped her arms around Jakes' legs too.

"It's only for a few hours, daddy, and then you'll see me again".

He gave her a wry look, "Pretty sure that's _my_ line, sweetheart".

"Well one of us has to be the adult" She sniffed, "And it's definitely not Peter".

"_Oy!_" He complained, and she laughed again.

In the distance, they heard the school bell ring.

"Okay, off you go then" Morse announced, "And we'll meet you _right_ back here, alright?"

"Alright" She called, already rushing off, "Bye daddy, bye Peter!"

"See you later, kiddo".

* * *

They waited for her to disappear into the building, and then continued to watch for another few minutes just in case. Eventually, Jakes turned and gently tugged at his partner's arm. Morse gave him a betrayed look, as if standing outside the school gates was his plan for the rest of the day, before reluctantly following.

* * *

"She'll be _fine_, Morse".

"I know. I know that, I… I _know_".

"Do you?"

He scowled at him, and Jakes grinned and laced their fingers together, coats billowing softly in the September wind.

"You coming into the station later?"

"Right after my appointment with Max".

This time it was Jakes' turn to frown.

"I still think it's unfair that you can go to DeBryn for check-ups when I had to meet that terrifying blonde woman for two months. Why didn't he offer to help _me?_"

"Because Max likes me better".

"… You know, I'd laugh if it wasn't so true".

Morse smirked and bumped their shoulders together.

"It's my last appointment, though. Clean bill of health from today onwards… You know what that means, don't you?"

"I have a rough idea" He teased.

"No more physicals, no more restraints, no more… _limits_".

His voice became a low, sultry whisper.

"Just think about it, _darling_, no restrictions on _anything_ I do… And what with the 6-year-old out of the house…"

"Go on".

"Well, I was… _thinking_… perhaps we could… well, _you know_…"

Jakes lent closer until his face was mere centimetres away from the younger man.

"_Go on_".

"A big empty house, just _you_ and _me_…"

Sky blue eyes darkened as he unconsciously wetted his lips.

The sergeant followed the movement intimately.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"All alone" He breathed, "No interruptions".

"No phone calls, no limits, no _children_…"

Morse smirked salaciously.

"Catch up on sleep?"

"_Oh thank christ!_"

Jakes let out a heavy breath as his shoulders sagged.

"I thought you'd never say it".

"I don't think I've _ever_ been this tired" He agreed, "Between the moving, going back to work again, Abby starting school-"

"And she's _constantly_ running around, wanting to _do_ things! Like, I had _no idea_ so much _energy_ could fit in something so _small!_"

"That's just after six months of living with her, I've had six _years!_"

They paused, stared at each other, and then burst out laughing.

* * *

Turning onto their new street, they came to a stop in front of the Thursday's.

"So, DeBryn, work, then home?" Jakes clarified, and Morse nodded, "We should be able to fit in a quick nap before collecting Abby. You've got a half day, right?"

"You kidding me? It's our child's first day of school, _of course_ I've got a half day! I wanted to take a full one but Bright wouldn't allow it, considering we're still one man short. What an ungrateful bastard he must be, right?"

Morse grinned and stepped closer than necessary to knock on the door.

"_Incredibly_ ungrateful. Can't imagine what's kept him out of the field for so long. Must have an overprotective doctor".

"Hmm, I suppose that's _possible_" Jakes hummed, closing the distance between them, "Any idea when that doctor of his is going to let him return?"

"Well, _today_, if he plays his cards right".

He smirked and leant forward, warm breath ghosting across red lips, getting closer and closer _and-_

"Okay, do you two _really_ have to do this here?"

They leapt apart as if stung.

* * *

Joan stood in front of them at the open door, hands on hips and a solitary eyebrow raised.

"You _do_ have your own doorstep now to stoop in, you know" She continued, "And it's _literally_ only four houses away".

They glanced at each other guiltily, and her stern façade lasted an entire three seconds before breaking down into a grin.

"Well come on then!" She stepped back, "Mum wants to hear all about it".

"Morse will have to tell you" Jakes quickly intercepted, "I'm only here to pick up Fred".

"And I'm meeting Max in half an hour, so it'll have to wait till this afternoon after we pick up Abby".

She sighed, "Listen to you two. Work. Doctors. School. Like a regular old married couple. When did you become so boring?"

"It's only a couple of hours!" Morse protested, "And then Abby can tell you herself!"

"_Dull_".

"Is that you complaining, Joanie?"

They turned as Thursday came bustling down the stairs, suit and tie in place and coat in his arms.

"Not at all, dad" She smiling sweetly, "Just wondering how I lost my dear _brother_ to the cruel clutches of _love_".

Morse flushed and ducked his head and Jakes couldn't help but grin.

"Aw, don't say that, Joan, you've made him go all red!"

He got a sharp dig in the ribs for his troubles, and wheezed out a laugh.

Thursday merely shook his head at their antics.

"Right. Well. We're off" He announced, grabbing his hat, "And you're having tea here tonight, no argument".

"Wasn't going to" Morse bit out, "Since _someone_ can't cook".

"That was one time!"

"Yea, in our brand new kitchen!"

"_Enough_, or we'll be late! Tea. Tonight. Bring my grandchild".

"Sometimes I think _she's_ the only one he wants to see" He pouted as they left, and Joan laughed, tugging him into a playful headlock, "About time you caught on, Morse".

* * *

Four o'clock that night saw them all squished around the small living room table, Abby talking at a hundred miles an hour about her teacher, new friends, her favourite subject, her least favourite subject, how nobody does the voices when reading like daddy does, how her uniform is boring, and-

"Right, well, time for some supper, I think" Win announced, clapping her hands together.

Morse quickly stood as well, "I'll give you a hand".

"Oh, no, dearie, you just sit-"

"Or else I'll go back to calling you Mrs Thursday again".

She paused and stared at him.

He blinked innocently.

Jakes stifled a laugh.

Win immediately rounded on him and narrowed her eyes.

"You've _corrupted_ him, Sergeant!"

"I'm either a guest or I'm family; I can't be both" Morse replied calmly, "Now so, I'll begin with the potatoes, shall I?"

"And I'll bring Abby outside and try to burn off some of this energy" Jakes said, wanting to escape the wrath of his honorary mother-in-law, "Come on kiddo, I'll race you".

She immediately took off with a squeal, and he quickly gave chase.

* * *

Following Win into the kitchen, Morse took out the vegetable peeler and started. Mrs Thursday hummed lightly as she worked, and the pair moved around each other seamlessly.

"How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Good" He said, "_Great_, actually, Max cleared me for active duty".

"Then it's been a great day, all-round".

Hearing a burst of laughter outside, he paused what he was doing and glanced out the window.

Jakes was after catching Abby and was currently holding her upside down.

Win came to a stop next to him, also watching the pair.

"… You know it wasn't too long ago when you an I were standing out there one night".

He startled as she spoke, and turned questioningly.

"Before this entire… _incident_ happened. It was just after your flat got broken into, and you and Abby needed a place to stay for a few days".

"I remember".

"You told me you didn't think you were a good father. That maybe Abby would have been better off in foster care… Do you still think that?"

Morse swallowed thickly and turned back to the window.

Abby squealed with laughter as Peter tossed her in the air. In the living room, Fred was laughing at something Joan had said. Next to him, Win smiled and leant her head on his shoulder.

All of them were together.

As they should be.

His _family_.

"No" Morse replied, voice strangely hoarse, "No, she belongs exactly where she is right now".

Outside, Peter caught his eye and smiled, softly, _sweetly_, a smile reserved for Morse and Morse only.

"He better realise how lucky he is to have you" Win said quietly, as Abby waved.

"Don't worry" He replied, smiling at the pair, "I Think He Knows".


End file.
